


Finding a North Star (with clipped wings)

by Ancient_Dee_Cyphers



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Adoptive Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Angst, Depressed TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Emotional Manipulation, Enderman Hybrid Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Eventual Happy Ending, Exiled TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Fox Hybrid Floris | Fundy, Gen, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Manipulative Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Techno does not have wings, Tommy-centric, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, Wing Clipping, Winged Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Winged TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Winged Wilbur Soot, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:34:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 91,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28599297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ancient_Dee_Cyphers/pseuds/Ancient_Dee_Cyphers
Summary: Tommy had officially gone too far and he was beyond apologies. Dream needed to make him pay and show L'Manberg once and for all who was the true one in charge. However, exiling a winged creature proves to be difficult, so how do you ground a bird?You clip their wings.In clipping their wings, you strip them of all pride and Tommy is left a simple husk of who he once was. He just wanted to go home, but was there a home left for him?
Relationships: Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 387
Kudos: 1945





	1. The Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Alright alright alright! Here we go! This will a series (no clue how long though) and this is my first non-canon work so I have very excited for its debut! I will follow canon up until Tommy's second betrayal of Techno because they are my boys and I will not hurt them (too badly). This first chapter has some pretty graphic depictions of someone under sedation so content warning for that. 
> 
> Without further adieu, let us embark on a journey.

Soaring across the sky with golden wings, Tommy could almost believe he was free. The sea salted wind caught under his sun-like feathers and tousled his blonde hair. The ocean below played with his reflection and he veered to the left to follow the wind current.

“Tommy,” called a sharp voice in a boat below him. “Stay on the path, do not stray from it.”

Dream put down his oars momentarily to pull out his bow that was strapped around his chest. 

“Fine. Whatever, Dream,” pouted the teenager as he beat his wings to follow his capture’s boat. “No need to get all shooty.”

His ghost of a brother soared up next to him, transparent brown wings only pretending to catch the wind.

“Hey, don’t worry, Tommy. I’m sure Dream’s taking us somewhere lovely,” cheered Ghostbur tinnily.

“Nothing can be as nice as L’Manberg.” Tommy crossed his arms and looked back down at his warped reflection in the waves.

“Well maybe not at first, but eventually, it will be even greater! More than suitable for a vacation spot. You’ve been awfully stressed lately and I think this place will be just the thing you need-” Ghostbur continued to rant about how wonderful this ‘vacation’ will be.

Tommy was hearing none of it. He hummed on occasion, pretending to pay attention only so Dream didn’t try and talk. He just morosely stared at the frothy waves below considering briefly what would happen if he let his wings dip ever so slightly-

He shook his head and determinedly stared forward with bright blue eyes that mirrored the sky. He picked up some speed and felt the wind whip his face. He would not think like that. He would not let Dream win. But still he had no choice. Right now he had to follow Dream or risk never being allowed back into his home. He just needed Tubbo to have a change in heart and he was convinced that he’d only be exiled for a couple days until his country missed his vibrant personality.

After all, they’d be nothing without him. He was a founding father and traded his beloved discs for their freedom. A nasty voice whispered for him to look and see what they did to Wilbur.

Tommy once again shook his head and reminded himself that Wilbur’s downfall was by his own design. The nasty voice replied that history repeats. Meanwhile, Ghostbur continued his rant just above him.

The blonde teenager grit his teeth and flew down alongside Dream’s boat, ignoring the cold spindrift landing on his skin. He beat his wings harder to avoid being pulled into the ocean’s current.

“Are we there yet,” demanded Tommy.

Dream sighed and said, “Tommy, I swear to the gods above, if you start that, I will not hesitate to shoot you down.” -he put a hand on an arrow in his quiver as proof- “And yes, I think we should almost be there.”

“I don’t understand why you’re being so picky about where I go. We passed several perfectly fine islands a while ago,” grumbled the teenager.

“Yes, but I can’t trust you to not swim back to L’Manberg. Despite Ghostbur’s insistence, this is not a vacation.”

“Yes, well, I could just fly back, you know.”

Dream gave him a look from under his clay mask. He beat his wings perhaps a bit harder than necessary to offset his boat in the waves. He quickly grabbed his oars to avoid tipping over.

“Tommy,” Dream bit out.

“What? I didn’t do anything!” protested Tommy as he gained altitude.

Out in the distance and ever growing closer, Tommy could see the island that they were setting course for. He was silently grateful for their arrival because his wings were growing more tired by the second from miles of nonstop flight. In a final effort, he climbed up into the clouds just below the wind shear and could feel the high speed winds propelling him forward. He reveled in the feeling of the wind between his feathers and he spread out his arms as he began to glide down towards the beach in the distance.

He could feel Dream staring at him, no doubt with his bow aimed in case Tommy made any wrong moves. He pointedly ignored him as the beach grew closer and closer. He pivoted his wings so that he pulled up from the dive and beat them so that he slowed down before his feet graced the sand below. His golden wings folded behind him and he dropped his weight heavily to the sand, kneeling from exhaustion.

Tommy let his wings hang in the sand and he yawned through lips chapped from the constant wind. Thankfully most of the journey consisted of a steady tailwind otherwise Tommy didn’t think he’d be able to make this whole trip without resting. Even though his wings were optimal for long distance flight, unlike Ghostbur’s which were meant primarily for speed and agility, they had grown soft from years of being comfortably grounded. Back when he and Wilbur still lived with Phil, they often made long journeys to and from Techno’s in harsh arctic winds. Tommy’s wings were at their strongest then and he could’ve twice made this journey without being near as tired. 

Tommy couldn’t help but think that Phil would’ve been disappointed in the shape he let his wings fall into. Still, he sighed and felt his wings and skin soak up the sun. He could feel his exhaustion through every muscle in his body and he wanted nothing more than to just sleep.

“Wow! Tommy, look at this place,” exclaimed Ghostbur in awe as he landed beside Tommy and folded his wings. “It’s absolutely beautiful!”

The teenager lifted his head and saw a beach completely untouched and wild. The native oak trees and fauna were living undisturbed by man’s touch. Wild chickens darted between rye grasses and dodged between the lazy strides of the cattle. Tree leaves from a nearby forest whispered against the wind and despite the calm, Tommy thought he’s never seen anything more hideous in all his life.

“It’s absolutely shit, Ghostbur,” deadpanned Tommy. “You need your eyes checked.”

“Alivebur did need a prescription, but I assure you that my eyesight is just fine,” responded Ghostbur innocently.

“That’s great, Ghostbur,” replied Tommy as he rested his head against the palms of his hands.

The ghost smiled and glided over to a nearby oak tree, drawing his netherite axe. Tommy could hear him striking the tree as the pounding resonated through his skull. His eyes felt heavy. He began to doze off in the beating sun, wingtips and legs buried in the sand.

A splishsploshswurgityswoosh could be heard as Dream’s oars struck the ocean before being planted in the wet sand, anchoring the boat to the beach. Sand crunched under the masked man’s feet and steadily growing louder as he approached Tommy. He drew to a stop and Tommy could hear him rustling in his bag and shifting his feet.

The winged teenager wished Dream would just leave him alone. His golden feathers flared out slightly and goosebumps formed on his skin. Every part of his body was telling him to get away from Dream, but in his exhaustion, Tommy just couldn’t bring himself to care as he buried his head deeper in his hands.

“Here,” Dream called after a second.

Tommy groaned slightly as he tore his head away from his eyes and blinked rapidly to clear the spots in his vision. Once in focus, he could see that Dream was offering him a piece of bread and it was only then that he realized just how hungry he was. Hours of nonstop flying took more out of him than he wagered. He almost reached out and grabbed the bread but out of pure defiance, he refused.

“Tommy, you need to eat or you will starve,” warned Dream as if he cared.

“Yeah yeah, I’ll get it sorted in a minute. I don’t need your bread,” declared Tommy with none of his usual energy.

All resistance was lost, however, as Dream forced the bread into Tommy’s hand and said, “stop being difficult.”

In a lapse in judgement and self-control, Tommy began to eat the bread that Dream gave him. It felt like sandpaper going down and he had a hard time chewing since his mouth and throat were dried from the wind, but he still ate it without thinking. Once he began, his body literally didn’t allow him to stop and before he knew it, the loaf was gone. Tommy hadn’t even realized he began eating or even took a second to taste it.

Dream has also left a bottle of water next to Tommy before he left to help Ghostbur break down a tree for wood. Despite wanting to refuse Dream’s sudden kindness, Tommy unscrewed the cap, brought it to his chapped lips, and drained the bottle completely. He suddenly felt as though he had much more energy and he stood, shaking the sand from his wings and legs.

“Damn it. I got sand everywhere,” complained Tommy. “These are my only sets of clothes too.”

Ghostbur glided over, leaving no footprints, carrying armfuls of wood. He dropped them at Tommy’s feet dutifully before saying, “Don’t worry, Tommy! I can bring you back clothes!”

The teenager rolled his eyes but said, “thanks, Ghostbur,” with more sincerity than he had used all day.

Tommy sighed and looked around at the beach. There was nothing there. No house, no towers, no neighbors to grief. It was all so boring and vanilla. Did Dream actually expect him to work? Tommy scoffed at the idea.

“C’mon, Tommy,” began Ghostbur excitedly. “Let’s build a house!”

“Why don’t you build a house,” retorted Tommy, narrowing his eyes.

“Alright!” exclaimed Ghostbur with entirely too much enthusiasm as he rushed off to the nearest tree.

It was times like these that Tommy really missed his actual brother, Wilbur. The brother he knew would have called him a child or insulted him some other way before forcing him to work. Eventually, Wilbur would have joined in help, but at the very least he would banter and fight back. Ghostbur never fought back. He just took it with a hollow and fleeting smile. Tommy felt sharp pangs of grief that he quickly swallowed back.  
The teenager sighed and walked over to where Ghostbur was chopping more logs. Dream had wandered off to the forest in the distance, leaning against a dark oak and presumably watching them. Tommy just rolled his eyes. If Dream wanted to bore himself by watching a kid struggling to scrap together a shelter, then by all means. Ghostbur noticed him walking over and cheerfully waved.

“Hey, Tommy! I’ve done some thinking and I think I know what to call our nation,” declared the ghost with excitement.

“This isn’t a nation,” said Tommy solemnly. “I’m not intending on staying.”

“Well, yeah! It's a vacation! People don't usually stay very long on those. But when people visit, they’ll need somewhere to stay, right?” prompted Ghostbur.

“Yeah, I suppose.” Tommy drew his axe and began striking the wood with reluctance.

“Exactly! So, I was thinking. What is plentiful around here?”

“Loneliness.” Tommy swung. “Betrayal.” Another swing. “Depression.” The small oak was felled. 

“Not quite, Tommy, but good suggestions,” encouraged Ghostbur. “Any other thoughts? Maybe something tangible?”

“I dunno. Sand?” offered Tommy as he leaned on his axe, breathing heavily.

“Trees! There are a lot of trees!” exclaimed Ghostbur. “And you know what trees are made of?”

“Leaves?” 

“Logs!” answered the ghost while gesturing at the wood that had been spawned in place of the tree. “Logstedshire! I was thinking the perfect debut for Lads on Tour would be Logstedshire!”

“Lads on Tour? Logstedshire?” Tommy gave an incredulous look. “When did all that come about?”

“Oh you know, Lads on tour! I was talking about it on the way here,” supplied Ghostbur.

“I literally have never heard that once in my life,” Tommy deadpanned, feeling only slightly guilty for ignoring his brother during the flight.

Ghostbur lost his grin momentarily before conceding, “well, I suppose it was quite windy.”

Tommy cleared his throat.

“So, Lads on Tour?” prompted Tommy, feeling more than slightly guilty.

“Yes!” Ghostbur cheered, all sadness forgotten. “Yes, exactly, Tommy! I know Alivebur used to play guitar and what brings people around better than music?!”

“Can you even play the guitar?” 

“Well, I’ve never tried, but how hard could it be?”

Tommy thought fondly of watching his older brother learning to play guitar when he was younger. His fingers were bandaged more often than not, soon becoming thick with calluses. He would often swear loudly (at Philza’s disapproval) when the frigid antarctic air would cause his strings to snap. It took months before he could produce anything even slightly melodic, but Tommy always loved to hear him play.

Tommy laughed sadly and echoed, “yeah. How hard could it be?”

The teenager ruffled his feathers and swayed slightly as he walked past Ghostbur, suddenly wishing he could have a hug, but too prideful to ask. He collected the logs and aimlessly started placing them. His husk of a brother would provide him with more wood and he did this for what felt like hours under the sun which had just begun to set. Tommy didn’t have a roof, but he felt as though he needed to lie down. He was exhausted and his head felt fuzzy.

He slumped against the three-block high walls, nevermind his sore wings which ached from being crushed. His golden feathers would be a mess, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Why couldn’t he bring himself to care?

A high pitch ring began to sound in his ears and suddenly the crash of the waves and whispering of the wind became muffled and muted. A steadily worsening headache pounded against his skull. He tried to call out to Ghostbur, but his tongue felt thick and heavy. No words were formed.

His breathing, which had steadily become more and more labored over the past half an hour, was very loud in his head. He could hear himself breathe in and out. He felt light headed and swayed. He braced himself against the dirt with his head resting on a hand. When had he sat down?

Black dots swam across his vision and he began to panic. He wanted to vomit. He could feel the bile rising in his throat, but nothing ever came of it. He wanted to cry as he curled against himself in the dirt, significantly crushing his left wing while his right was draped over himself. He saw his primary feathers making indents in the disturbed earth. He flexed them and watched them move.

He couldn’t think. He could only hear his breathing and a faint ringing. Tommy felt panicked, but had no way to act on it as none of his limbs responded to a single request. He felt as though he drank too many of Techno’s potions, but he knew he hadn’t had a single one. 

Wait, Techno? That meant Phil was nearby. He’d know how to help.

“Ph’za,” he slurred before trying again slightly louder, “Ph’lza.”

Why was he calling out to Philza? He couldn’t remember. Where was he? He didn’t really care. His limbs felt strange and foreign. He couldn’t feel his left wing. He had no idea how long he’d been lying on it. When did he lie down?

Where was he? What time was it? He didn’t care. Nothing mattered. He closed his eyes.

After what could’ve been seconds, minutes, hours, or even days, an awful pounding and shuffling could be heard from the ground. Tommy groaned and begged whatever it was to stop. He was very distantly aware that it was the sound of footsteps. Maybe Wilbur was here. Wilbur should bug off. He was trying to sleep.

“Hey, T’mmy,” a muffled voice sounded above him.

“Wil’r?” Tommy slurred without opening his eyes or looking up.

The voice cursed and said something that Tommy didn’t quite catch. He began to drift off again. He was so tired.

Suddenly, a rush of freezing cold water flooded his senses and his eyes shot wide open in shock. 

“Wha’ the f’ck?” He shouted in a high pitch and slurred scream.

All his limbs stiffened and his wings extended in pure shock, his left one exploding back into feeling with a jolt. His lungs heaved and his body jumped, but his mind was still muddled. He attempted to sit up, but a foot roughly shoved him back onto the ground, forcing all the air to leave his lungs. His nose busted on impact with the ground so he gasped for air through a mouth full of mucus and blood drained from his, probably broken, nose.

Tommy forced his head to turn to the side so he could at least see the man who had just slammed him. Through a moppy fringe of wet blonde hair, he could barely make out a tall man in a green hunters cloak, kneeling over him with a combat boot firmly pressed at the joint between his two wings. In reflexive fear, his wings shoved off the ground to try and dislodge the man, but to no avail.

With his brain still foggy and pain coursing through every nerve, Tommy hadn’t the slightest clue who the man was, but he knew that he absolutely needed to run. He violently pushed off the ground and thrashed under the taller man’s weight, but he was powerless. His panic solidified into an icy fear through his veins.

“Calm down, Tommy,” commanded the man in a slightly strained voice.

He froze as he recognized the man’s voice.

“Dre’m?” Tommy slurred.

“Yes, Tommy,” Dream began with what sounded like concern. “You took a really nasty fall there.”

“F’ll?” echoed Tommy blankly.

“Yes, fall. Don’t tell you have a concussion on top of it all” exclaimed Dream frusteratedly. “I told you not to fly, but you wouldn’t listen! Now look at you!”

Tommy snarled through a heavily bleeding nose with red stained teeth. His hazy blue eyes were wild and unfocused, but the anger was clear and present. Frustration welled up inside him as he told his body to move, but nothing would listen. Confusion also addled his brain as he struggled to remember how and when he ended up on the ground.

“G’t off,” he growled through bloody teeth,

“No. You know what? I didn’t want to do this, but you leave me no choice,” Dream said ominously.

The exhausted teenager watched Dream take a pair of shears from his cloak. Why did he have shears? What did he mean? Tommy was so confused, stressed, and frustrated that a gutteral shout tried to force its way out of his swollen throat. He stared as Dream reached down and tightly grasped his left wing at the joint, pulling it towards him with little resistance. Tommy was so tired.

“Le’ go of m’ wings,” protested Tommy weakly.

“This is for your own safety,” Dream started as he separated the blades of the shears in one hand and spread his golden primaries with the other. “One more fall like that and you could’ve died.”

Before his brain could process what that meant, cold and violent panicked fear seized him as Dream slotted one feather between the blades. He needed to move.

He needed to run.

He needed to escape.

Every fiber of his being was screaming for his hazy brain to wake up and take action. In a flash of instinct. His left wing spasmed, but it was too late.

Snip.

“In case you forgot,” Dream began while separating the second feather, “you’re on your last life.”

A golden feather of his primary set floated down on the ground next to his face, mocking him. Tommy felt this intense feeling of grief, but he didn’t know what he was grieving. Where was he? What was happening?

His brain struggled to keep up as he watched in horror as five more feathers were taken. He felt wrong and so very tired. He began to shiver as the water seeped into his clothes and as his whole body rejected what was happening. What was happening? He didn’t know. He just felt wrong as Dream released his left wing and took hold of his other, repeating the process.

Tommy didn’t know what was happening. His wings spasmed with every snip of the blades, but the rest of him just laid there in a shocked stupor. Where was Phil? Where was Techno? He was scared and didn’t know what to do. His body wouldn’t respond to him and he was so very alone. Why were there feathers on the ground? Why was he on the ground? Where was he? Was he home? 

Where was home? 

Despite himself, tears began to well in his eyes. He wanted him home. Even in his mental fog, he knew these oak walls weren’t where he was meant to be. 

He felt wrong when his right wing finally slumped to the ground, still aching from the long flight. Exhausted and overwhelmed, Tommy curled in on himself and let his wings wrap around himself, hiding from the world. His headache only felt worse, his vision still blurred, and his ears couldn’t distinguish any one sound from the next.

“W’lb’r,” he called out quietly.

Tommy barely heard a voice above him say something, but he didn’t catch what it said. He saw someone walking away, the evening light glinting on the two sharp blades of shears. He wondered what those were for, but then saw the feathers adorning the floor again. He wondered whose those were.

“Tech’o,” he called out, forgetting why he was saying anything. 

Why was he on the floor? Where was he? He stared at the golden feathers, thinking they looked familiar.

“Ph’l,” he slurred in slightly more of a question.

But that wasn’t right. Phil’s wings were black and silver. Right?

He felt intense frustration and confusion as he struggled to remember a single thing. Where was Dream? Wait, why would Dream be there? He whined as he simply couldn’t remember.

Drawing his wings tighter to himself, he shivered in his wet clothes and allowed his eyes to shut. He didn’t remember anything as he fell into a deep, yet dreamless sleep.


	2. The Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy woke up feeling worse than he had in years, but maybe this was all meant to happen. Is there hope to be found when locked in denial?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this chapter gave me some serious trouble and I'm still not super thrilled about the opening, but 5 drafts and 3 edits later, I feel like I had to stop somewhere. I'm pretty happy about how it ended and it's about 500 words more than the previous chapter. Hopefully these chapters will continue climbing in word count. I love long word counts.
> 
> Thank you so much for the support on the previous chapter by the way. I hadn't expected it but it easily made my week. I love interacting with you all. <3
> 
> Please enjoy the chapter! Big plans ahead.

The sun was still very low in the sky, barely peeking out from the horizon, when Tommy slowly awoke. Breathing was much more difficult than it should’ve been. He breathed shallowly through his mouth because his nose stung with an indescribable pain each time he drew in a breath. His lips were as chapped and dry as his mouth. The air stung his incredibly sore throat and wracked painfully through his lungs. Each expansion brought forth extreme pain.

Needless to say, Tommy was in rough shape and probably sporting a broken nose and several broken ribs.

He racked his brain, trying to figure out exactly what happened and why he felt like his body had been run over by a rail cart. Although his arms and legs ached with a horrible ferocity, it was his wings that felt like they caught the brunt of it. Every slight shift sent sharp jolts of pain through his spine. Somehow, he had managed to fall asleep on top of his wings and he was reaping the consequences. Even so, he’d done that before and they had never hurt like this.

Finally, Tommy forced his eyes open and the light assaulting them made him promptly squeeze them shut. His head pounded as though Techno had launched a rocket directly through his temples. Slowly this time, Tommy blinked and allowed his eyes to adjust to the blurry surroundings. After a few minutes, he was able to blink away the bleariness as confusion flooded him.

There was a very thin white cloth, amplifying the light of the sun as it filtered through. The entrance of the tent flapped in the light breeze and trees could be heard rustling in the distance. Distantly, he recalled a journey, but his memory was still fuzzy around the edges. It could’ve been a dream for all he knew.

He slowly tried to pull himself into a sitting position. His muscles ached and screamed as he tried to coax any movement out of them. The teenager grimaced as any movement felt as though his muscles and nerves were being grated. He desperately tried to think about what he had done. He didn’t remember a single thing from yesterday except-

He remembered the feeling of the wind beneath his wings and the strain as he struggled to keep in the air. Was that reality? Why was he flying?

Then he remembered L’Manberg. He remembered Tubbo shouting his name like a curse. He remembered how unlike-Tubbo his best friend looked in his presidential suit. He remembered the warmth of flames and embers against his skin. He felt a sharp pang of loss.

He growled and forced himself to his feet, spreading his wings when he almost lost his balance, only for them to uncomfortably pang and crash into the cloth walls. Tommy heard something thump onto the ground and he looked down. A shimmering red vial, miraculously not shattered, had fallen by his feet.

Tommy folded his wings carefully and picked up the vial, noticing how his core practically screamed against the movement. He winced in pain. Inspecting the potion, he saw there was a paper hanging by a piece of twine that read:

_ “Health potion. I will be back with more later. _

_ -Dream” _

His lip curled and wings flared at the very name. He somehow wanted to blame the mask-wearing tyrant for his current shape. He knew deep in his bones that Dream was to blame at least partially for his condition, but he didn’t know the true extent. Tommy eyed the potion distrustfully and considered tossing it out of the tent, but he had no real reason to suspect foul play. The color was correct and, upon uncorking it, it smelled fine too.

Tommy sighed and decided that he didn’t have much to lose. He brought the glass vial to his lips and downed it in one go. The vile taste lingered as his dry mouth soaked up any liquid it could. However, his body felt warm as the healing affect spread from his head to his wing tips. The headache cleared and most of the soreness left his body in a matter of minutes, but his wings still pulled uncomfortably and he knew undoubtedly that his feathers were bent and out of place. He also felt his nose shift uncomfortably back into place, the pain fading slightly.

Tommy huffed as he realized that Dream hadn’t poisoned him. Too bad, he thought. He really wanted to be angry at someone.

Now that he could think semi-coherently, Tommy moved to exit the tent, but lurched violently. His whole sense of equilibrium was off and it was only by bracing against the wooden pole in the center that he could right himself. With a wider stance and slower movements, Tommy practically crawled out of the tent and the sun assaulted his eyes once more.

On reflex, he extended a wing to shield his face from the sun. However, now illuminated, the true damage to his wings could be seen. He winced and could practically hear Phil lecturing him.

Golden feathers bent out in many different directions and he could feel the nerves itch with irritation. Overworked and lacking care, his wings were the worst shape he had ever seen them. His smaller tertiaries and coverts were shifted all wrong and some even twisted out of place. Dirt and dust was caked between the individual hairs of his feathers, making them look more brown than golden. His secondaries had somehow twisted to cover his primaries and he knew that those would take hours to properly tease back into place. He wondered what he had done to twist them so horribly.

Tommy subconsciously reached a hand up to move the secondaries, so that he could check his primaries. If there was one thing that Phil told his sons repeatedly, it was to never mess with their primary feathers. If they were bent or broken, flight would be entirely impossible. Although he had little reason to maintain his wings in L’Manberg, Tubbo had always been fascinated by them and helped him take care of them when Wilbur stopped fussing over them. His heart ached as he thought of Tubbo. He pushed the thought out of his head.

Reaching his fingers through one of his misplaced secondaries, his blood froze. With more force, he shoved his back secondaries, pain bursting up his wing.

Where were they?!

His breathing quickened and all coherent through processes stopped. He raised his other wing just to make sure, and found the same result. 

A massive valley had been carved from his wings and he felt sick. 

His primaries were gone.

He stood staring, unbelieving. He felt wrong.

He felt violated.

He stared at the ground, determinedly staring away from his broken and  _ useless _ wings. He was no fool. He knew he wouldn’t fly again. As though chains had been tightly shackled around his neck, his breath caught in his throat. He was alone.

He was alone.

He was alone.

He was flightless.

He was alone.

He had no memories.

He-

A tinny voice in the distance interrupted his thoughts as it called out, “Tommy! You’re awake.”

In his peripheral, Tommy saw a shadow of a being, no more than a mirage, approach him. He distantly registered the figure as his dead brother. He didn’t care. He was just alone with a ghost.

“Tommy?” prompted Ghostbur, opening his wings in a gesture of concern. “Tommy, are you alright?” 

Freezing cold yet hollow hands landed on his shoulder. Tommy had half the mind to force them off, but all he could do was breathe. And even that was proving more effort than it was worth. Still, Tommy found himself looking up into transparent gray eyes. He hated looking Ghostbur in the eyes. They were so different from Wilbur’s warm brown eyes. There was no comparing them. Even a grayscale portrait would capture more of Wilbur’s likeness than the animated husk he was forced to live with.

“I’m-” Tommy began breathlessly, finishing his sentence in an incomprehensible mutter.

“Pardon?” asked the ghost innocently, concern shining in his gray eyes.

Miserably, Tommy pulled his wings closer to him. They felt all wrong as they wrapped around his frame. He knew Wilbur was going to be mad, he just knew it. After all the years, even in Pogtopia, fretting over his wings and poor wing care, he’s let himself go. He just could feel it deep in his bones that he’d yell at him. That Phil would yell at him.

Oh god, what would Phil think?

Where was Phil?

Phil could fix this. Phil would be so upset, but he’d know what to do. Phil always knew what to do.

He needed Phil. Tommy tried to open his mouth to speak, but only a choked and panicked sob erupted.

“I’m sorry,” the winged boy whispered, drawing his arms around himself. “I’m sorry…”

“Tommy, Tommy,” repeated Ghostbur comfortingly. “What are you sorry about?”

The ghost’s held nothing but quiet patience and concern. Still, Tommy felt unable to speak and he stared at his useless wings, hoping Ghostbur would take the hint.

“Your wings?” questioned Ghostbur.

Tommy just nodded and looked askance, unable to meet his brother in the eyes. He had done the one thing he was told not to do.

“Tommy, your wings aren’t your fault,” Ghostbur said while wrapping the younger boy in a freezing embrace. “Dream said-”

At the mention of Dream’s name, Tommy immediately pushed away and spread his wings while his abused feathers bristled. All fear and grief replaced by anger and distrust. He  _ knew _ Dream had something to do with this. He just  _ knew _ it.

“Dream,” accused Tommy in a broken voice. “What did Dream say?”

“There was an accident,” began Ghostbur, oblivious to Tommy’s anger. “It wasn’t your fault. You took a bad fall and hurt yourself.”

“I fell,” Tommy repeated. “How? I haven’t fallen in years!”

“Exactly!” said Ghostbur. “He had forgotten that you hadn’t flown that long in years and so he accepts full responsibility.”

“You’re not explaining how I fell. I want details,” Tommy demanded.

“You don’t remember?” 

“Don’t pretend you’re the pinnacle of memory.”

Ghostbur ignored the remark and hummed before saying, “Dream did warn me you might have a concussion. Tell me, Tommy, where are we?”

“I don’t have a concussion, Ghostbur,” said Tommy.

“Where are we?” repeated the ghost.

Tommy cursed and looked around. He knew he wasn’t in L’Manberg and he knew he wasn’t in the Dream SMP Kingdom. Thus, he concluded that he must be in exile.

Oh.

He was exiled. A heavy weight appeared on his shoulders and heart at the realization.

“I’m in exile,” replied Tommy breathlessly.

“Okay, good. Logstedshire, to be exact. What day is it?” Ghostbur asked.

“Ghostbur, this is stupid. I’m fine! Just tell me how I fell,” demanded Tommy.

“Fine,” Ghostbur said. “Dream said that you tried to go for a flight after building the walls-” the ghost gestured to oak walls that Tommy did not remember building- “but a gust of wind knocked you awry and you fell in the trees.”

“And just because Dream said this, it’s true?” Tommy challenged.

  
  
“Why would Dream lie?” countered Ghostbur innocently.

Tommy grit his teeth. Like it or not, he didn’t have any true counter. Dream was the king of withholding information, but he rarely lied. Even in war, Dream was ruthlessly honest with the information he let slip. 

  
“Fine, but how did my primaries…” Tommy trailed off and swallowed back a lump in his throat.

He still didn’t want to look or believe they were gone. It felt as though a part of his soul had been taken.

At this, Ghostbur worriedly twitched his wings and wordlessly took a handful of blue powder out of a pouch hanging at his waist. 

“You look like you need some blue.” He placed the powder in Tommy’s hands to which Tommy accepted reluctantly. 

Ghostbur sighed before saying, “Dream said that your wings were in a very rough shape when he found you. He said there wasn’t much hope of your primaries being fixed so he thought it’d be kinder to-”

“To clip them,” finished Tommy. “The bastard clipped my damn wings.”

The teenager gripped the blue powder tightly in a fist as he fought back the urge to punch a tree.

“Tommy, don’t get the wrong idea,” Ghostbur warned with transparent wings outstretched. “He didn’t mean any harm.”

  
  
“Oh? And how do you know that,” Tommy challenged. “Because he  _ said so _ ?!”

“Well, yeah,” Ghostbur said innocently. “He took care of you after the fall. He’s our friend.”

“He is not our friend,” Tommy said. 

He drew his flightless wings closer to his body as he walked away from Ghostbur to the coast. He sighed as he climbed up a small hill that opened to a bluff. The ocean forcefully danced against the rocks, grinding them and shaping them over millennia. Rough stone smoothed down to the rock beneath his feet. He sat on the cliff’s edge, feeling the ocean’s cool air gust upwards.

Tommy felt a cold presence beside him. He knew it to be his brother. He drew his knees up to his chin and wrapped his arms around them, sparing himself from the chill by drawing his beaten wings around himself. He breathed shakily, dangerously close to crying. How had he let himself get like this? How had he let himself neglect his wings to the point that they were taken away?

He felt furious with Dream, but he was beside himself with grief. For once, there was little room for anger in all his hurt.

Just like his wings, he had made Tubbo feel like a second priority. His best friend abandoned him and now his wings were gone as well. Ghostbur stuck around, but a man who only keeps company with ghosts is hardly more than a phantom himself. Phil was long gone. He’d catch glimpses of him in L’Manberg, wandering the streets at night. He wondered if his father regretted anything. Any of the hurt he caused, not being there for Fundy, not being there for his youngest son.

Tommy wondered where Technoblade had gone. He disappeared after he summoned the withers, never to be seen again. He wondered if he held any regrets. Techno also caused pain in others. Did he ever regret holding so strictly to his moral code that everyone else fell to the wayside? Was he lonely?

His thoughts wandered to Wilbur. Did he regret anything before he died? Was he still haunted in death? Did he regret coming back?

If Phil could live his life with a trail of broken hearts, why did Tommy hesitate at every turn? If Technoblade could sleep soundly despite the blood on his hands, why does Tommy seldom sleep? If Wilbur could come back and face his mistakes, why did Tommy struggle just to admit his flaws?

It’s no wonder L’Manberg wanted him gone.

He was shocked out of his remorseful ramblings as cold fingers found their way between his damaged feathers. Tommy looked over at Ghostbur with a question evident in his gaze. 

“You know they’ll grow back, Tommy,” stated the ghost calmly as he slowly teased his tertiaries back into place. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Tommy replied quietly.

He leaned into his brother’s touch, even if it was cold and foreign. At least he still had Ghostbur. He had very little and so, if a ghost was his only company, at least the ghost was friendly.

Tommy allowed a small and half-hearted smile to appear in the slightest quirk of his lips. He began to comb through the small coverts atop his larger feathers, ridding them of dirt and righting them back into place. A few feathers came loose in his grooming, but he let them fall. It’s not like he’d be flying any time soon.

He felt barren without his primaries, but he refused to think about it. That was a fight for another day. A fight with Dream. He would confront the masked man with all the reckless abandon of someone with nothing to lose. Because after all, he had already lost everything. Were the discs even worth it-?

He immediately stopped that train of thought. Of course they were worth it. They were everything.

They sat there on the cliff for hours, not saying much of anything. Though Tommy’s wings still ached and were far from optimal, they looked slightly better. The dirt had been rubbed from his feathers, leaving them still dull but golden in their sheen. His secondaries have been teased back though a couple struggled to transition and his tertiaries were back in order. Several golden feathers lay around the two men, but they were unfortunately necessary.

Tommy wondered if the loss of his primaries were truly necessary. 

Anger still boiled just below the surface, but Tommy forced himself to reign it in. At least for now, there was no room for anger. 

Sighing, Tommy stretched his legs over the precipice. He felt nervous energy through every limb. His legs begging to run, his arms begging for use, his wings begging to fly-

He twitched his golden wings and stretched them in the early afternoon sun, praying that the itch would cease, but there was no such reprieve. His left secondaries still felt sore at the base from his rough handling. Tommy shook out his newly preened feathers and took out a bit of parchment he had stored in his pocket and a pen.

He needed a plan. Tommy felt a sense of purpose as he spread the stained parchment on the smooth stone before him, leaning over it with a pen and scrawling out in rough handwriting:  _ To-Do List. _

“Alright, Ghostbur,” Tommy began with renewed energy. “If we’re to stay here, we are going to need a plan.”   
  


“What’s the plan about?” asked Ghostbur.

“The plan is to number one: survive-” Tommy scrawled ‘ _ Survive _ ’ just below the title- “and number two: get back to L’Manburg.” He wrote ‘ _ Return _ ’ about midway down the page.

“Go back?” Ghostbur asked in nervous confusion. “But, didn’t Dream say you were supposed to stay here a while?”

“Forget what Dream said. I’m not staying,” declared Tommy. “He can clip my wings but it takes more than that to ground me.”

“But Dream’s our friend…”

“Dream is not our friend.”

“But he saved your life,” countered Ghostbur.

“And sentenced me to something way worse than death,” Tommy said. “You don’t need to help me return. I’m going back regardless of your approval.”

“I’m sure Dream would let you return in a little while,” said Ghostbur nervously. “It’s a vacation, not a life’s sentence.”

“Dream will never let me go back.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do!”

“How?”

“I-” Tommy faltered. “I just do. I did something that maybe I shouldn’t have done, but I honestly don’t regret it. He wasn’t thrilled, but he had it out for me anyways.”

Ghostbur shifted as he asked, “what did you do?”

“Does it matter?!” shouted Tommy exasperatedly, wings flaring in annoyance.

“Well, I suppose not, but-” Ghostbur was cut off.

“Good!” Tommy interjected. “Then help me list some things that I need to survive.”

The winged boy leaned over the page again, poised to write, as Ghostbur complied with slight reluctance. After a couple minutes, he had written in bullets:

  * _craft stone tools_
  * _find iron_
  * _construct nether portal_
  * _*find girlfiend*_
  * _finish shelter_



The last bullet was added as an afterthought at Ghostbur’s insistence. He didn’t believe that a permanent shelter was necessary since he already had a tent and was not planning on staying. However, he wrote it on the condition that Ghostbur would build it while Tommy was working on the other objectives. 

Given something to do, Ghostbur was all too happy to ignorantly leave and begin gathering wood as Tommy began to write bullets for the second part of his plan. His “return” to L’Manberg.

He supposed that the most logical first step would be to construct a nether portal since it was about a day’s travel via boat to reach Logstedshire. He scrawled “ _ construct nether portal _ ” again under his “ _ Return _ ” section. Since this was on both lists, he made this his primary objective.

He then wrote, “ _ host events _ ” under the previous bullet. If the L’Manbergians were to want Tommy back, he’d have to give them a reason. While he wasn’t known for his building expertise or his rational decisions, he was an expert at getting someone’s attention. Afterall, he was the one to set up L’Manberg’s first tourist attraction, even if it struggled to get off the ground.

Tommy knew in his bones that his freedom depended on his ability to fight back against Dream. As it stood, Tommy had no weapons and no armor while his capture bore full neterite. He knew that in a one-to-one fight, he would stand no chance. His shoulder still bore the scar from Dream taking a life during the Duel for L’Manberg. It twinged under his shirt as he rubbed it subconsciously, wings fluttering nervously.

He took a steadying breath and simply wrote, “ _ get ready _ ” in case his list was ever found. His mind flashed to private bunkers under the shelter Ghostbur was constructing and crafting a full netherite set of armor and weapons. He’d also need enchantments, but Tommy had no idea how to get netherite and he never enchanted anything in his life. He barely even brewed potions as that was Wilbur and Techno’s specialty. 

Tommy resolved to ask a sympathetic L’Manbergian to help. After all, he knew a couple of them were furious at his exile and he was sure they’d visit him at some point. Specifically, he thought of Fundy and Quackity, both of which loudly voiced their opinion against Tubbo’s decision. He also considered Ranboo, the Enderman hybrid who had inadvertently caused Tommy’s exile. He wouldn’t force any favors though. After all, if he resorted to blackmail, he’d be just as bad as the man he sought to destroy.

Feeling pretty good with a small pep in his step, Tommy rolled the parchment and secured it inside his inventory. He then drew the wooden axe that he saved and began walking off to the nearest tree.

He supposed it was kind of peaceful being alone in the woods. No sound except for the strike of his axe against the tree and the birds singing in the distance. Tommy let his mind wander and he could almost let himself forget that he was grounded. But a glance up at the canopy to see songbirds flying overhead released a sharp pang in his chest. He should be up there. His whole body itched to be in the air, never mind the residual soreness, and his wings witched.

Tommy sunk himself into the steady monotonous work of felling trees as he ignored his grief. He kept busy by pulling leaves from twigs that he could use for torches and breaking down massive trunks that he needed for handles. He ignored the way his arms began to strain from the constant work as he kept moving forward. During any lulls in the routine, he would catch himself glancing up at the sky before tearing his gaze back down. It was pointless.

Finally, after hours of nonstop work, his wooden axe split right down the blade instead of splitting the tree. He was silently grateful because his whole body pounded and ached. He would be terribly sore tomorrow, but he didn’t care. Tommy supposed that Phil would’ve been proud of his work, but he didn’t dwell on that. He wondered if Phil would help him.

Tommy shook his head as he gathered the stacks of sticks and wood that he had collected and began the short trek back to Logstedshire. Despite the hours of logging, he had barely made a dent in the dense oak forest. If Tommy had been even slightly interested in staying, he supposed that this wouldn’t be too bad of a place.

But it was still nowhere near as nice as L’Manberg. It never would be.

When Tommy made it back to Logstedshire, the sun had painted the sky a light orange as it began to set. He recalled Dream’s note from earlier promising his return, but Tommy silently wished that the man capsized and got stranded at sea. It’d save Tommy months of trouble.

The shelter that Ghostbur had continued constructing was looking somewhat decent. The logs were placed about five blocks high, following along the uneven base that Tommy didn’t remember setting. They were stripped and alternating live oak and dark oak with a roof covering certain sections that Tommy supposed Ghostbur was meant to hide in during rain. He found a couple chests set up that held Ghostbur’s leftover wood. Tommy deposited his day’s work into the box, feeling a sense of accomplishment.

Tommy felt a pang of loneliness as he realized that Ghostbur was nowhere to be found. It was getting dark so Tommy supposed that his brother had gone back to L’Manberg. He felt slightly hurt and betrayed from the absence, but swallowed it back. He ruffled his feathers, refusing to look at them, as he solemnly swore that he’d be back.

Even though Tommy was aching from his day’s long work and pointedly denying the absence of his brother and the use of his wings, he felt a great sense of accomplishment. He hadn’t completed this much manual labor since the very start of L’Manberg when he and Wilbur constructed the first walls. He was far from going back and he knew that, but Tommy felt a sense of hope because he was getting close to scratching off his first objective of getting tools.

Leaving the walls of Logstedshire to retire in his tent, Tommy felt as though things might turn out alright. After all, this wasn’t the first or even the second time he was cast out. He would survive and his feathers would grow back. Of this he was solemnly certain.

Tommy was a survivor. He felt a swell of pride at the self-assigned role as he crossed the beach and entered his small tent where he laid on his cot, careful to not fall asleep on his wings again. Despite the racing of his mind, Tommy quickly fell asleep and felt satisfied with what he had accomplished. He knew things would turn out for the better because he would make it so. Life, Dream, and Logstedshire be damned.

Distantly, his mind wandered to Dream and he wondered when he might arrive before sinking into a deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 knocked out! Weak in some points, strong in others. I've had some great help from a couple friends in a Discord server I'm in. Their ao3 names are Malaise_Incarnate and violet_sunflowers. I couldn’t have finished this chapter without them so please give them some love. Im so excited for this chapter!! 
> 
> (note from the future: we have fanart for this chapter! https://www.instagram.com/p/CLeWkHrlzCw/?igshid=f7rfzecbz2h2)
> 
> Don't forget to get some sleep and drink that H2O. <3


	3. The Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream finally makes an appearance and Tommy is not ready for what the tyrant had in store.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I renamed this fic btw. It has graduated from a songfic. 
> 
> Wow! I intended to only write about 3 or 4k words like usual, but this is actually a little over 7k! That is absurd! I have never written a chapter this long but I am thrilled. I actually really like how this chapter is structured. This chapter and the last really represent the highs and lows of writing. Last chapter, I struggled to write anything, but this chapter? Words flew off the page practically.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy <3

Two days later and Dream still hadn’t shown up. Ghostbur was also absent and this really solidified the fact that Tommy was alone. His wings had more or less healed. The feathers he could reach were preened back into place and retained their golden sheen, no longer dull with the dirt they had accumulated during his fall. There was still a dull ache in his limbs, though this was more from his constant physical labor than the actual fall.. Tommy was alone and his wings were clipped, but he kept himself plenty busy.

Over the past two days, Tommy had installed a small wooden path from his tent to the walls, fully lit with hastily thrown together torches. He upgraded his very worn and crude wooden set of tools to slightly newer and slightly better quality stone tools. He was no blacksmith and the blades of his tools were forced onto their handles with string that he had obtained by slaying spiders. He also installed a rough crafting bench already splintered by his sloppy craftsmanship and he built a small stone furnace to make Logstedshire slightly sustainable. 

The food it cooked was uneven, most of the time due to an off-balanced heating plate, some portions being charred and overdone, with others being bleeding and raw. This wasn’t much of a problem if Tommy stuck to eating beef and avoided pork or chicken. The winged teenager avoided eating pork anyways because it reminded him of Technoblade, of whom he still very much hated for siccing withers upon his country just after swearing to defend it. 

Despite the fact that Dream had given him a note promising his return, Tommy couldn’t honestly say that he was upset. He wasn’t quite relieved either as he wasn’t much closer to constructing a nether portal due to the mines being dry of any iron, thus making visits from others near impossible. He missed Ghostbur, but keeps busy to distract from that fact.

Even now, as Tommy lay in a newly dug hole under Logstedshire, he ignored the pang in his chest as he wiped sweat and dirt from his brow. There was a slight chill in the air as winter approached, but with the striped wooden walls blocking the northern wind, it was actually quite comfortable as the midday sun beat over him.

He sat back in the dirt and stone basement, panting as he leaned heavily against his stone pickaxe. He had been digging this room for hours. Tommy woke up before the sun, something that was quickly becoming a habit, to work and try to make Logstedshire as habitable as possible. Both to attract L’Manbergians when he got a Nether portal running and to distract himself.

This room was meant to be his base of operations once the colder months came. This was a trick he picked up from Technoblade, and though he loathed taking the man’s advice, he was the only reason that he and Wilbur had survived Pogtopia’s winter. Tommy shook his head to get rid of the thought. He could store his food in this room and whatever else he might need. Since it was underground and made entirely of stone, it would struggle to retain heat, but Tommy hoped that with the help of torches and layered blankets, he might be able to insulate it. 

The weather was nice for now, but he knew that the cold was fast approaching. He could feel it in his frozen toes and face when he woke up in the early morning.

Tommy sighed and climbed up the rungs of the ladder to the surface. He had dug it just deep enough so he could stand, but not so deep that if he jumped down he’d take damage. Still, with currently incapacitated wings, he had to use whatever he had to get from place to place. 

Once on the surface, Tommy covered the small room’s entrance with a trap door and put some planks on it to match the rest of the flooring. Only about a quarter of Logstedshire Proper was floored in planks since, as it turned out, carpentry was tiring. He usually left Tubbo or Ghostbur to build things for him and his lack of experience really showed. Nails stuck up at odd angles, many of the planks were off center and patches of dirt were still visible . But what did they expect?

Tommy walked out of the Logstedshire doors and leaned forward to stretch his wings. His primary-less wingtips stretched to the sky as he shook them out. They were stiff, both from lack of use and being cramped in a confined area. He could feel several feathers on his back poking uncomfortably out of place, but he couldn’t reach them. He really wished Ghostbur would make an appearance soon.

He shoved the thought out of his head and folded his wings again, taking out his stone pickaxe. Dread filled his bones as he began the trek to his mine. So far he had only been able to find coal despite his thorough searches for other ores. There weren’t any caverns to be found either. Maybe if he stayed in there for more than a few hours at a time, he’d be more fruitful, but Tommy hated the feeling of being trapped.

At least in his winter room, the sky was visible through the slots in the trap door and it was not that deep. In the mine, he felt completely alone and trapped. Every part of his avian instincts told him to have the sky visible at all times. He couldn’t fly, but that didn’t mean he had to be underground. He really didn’t want to go again tonight for another fruitless session, but he forced himself forward. It was either mining or facing the crippling reality that he was alone and flightless.

Frankly, Tommy would rather suffocate in gravel.

Before he made it to the mine, however, Tommy heard the rhythmic splashing of oars striking the waves. Turning towards the beach, there was in fact a boat just about to dock in the sand. Tommy quickly put away his pickaxe and forced himself to walk to the beach even though he wanted to run.

Nervous energy built up over the past couple days reached a pinnacle as he reached the sand. His excitement turned sour with disappointment and anger, however, when he saw a signature green cloak hop out the boat. Dream. Tommy clenched his fist while his wings flared and ruffled instinctually. He found it very difficult to keep the hostility and fear out his eyes, but he did his best.

“Tommy!” shouted Dream as though him and the teenager were long time friends. “How’s Logstedshire? It’s looking great. I can tell you’ve been busy.”

The winged teenager growled despite himself as he fought the urge to throttle the man. How could he have the audacity to pretend as though they were friends after everything he’s done? After taking Tommy from his home? After estranging Tommy from his friends? After clipping-

He stopped his internal rant there.

“Hey there, Big D,” Tommy responded with all his usual energy. “Yeah, Logstedshire’s been great. Very quiet.”

He wanted to pepper his response with insults, but like it or not, he had to play Dream’s game for a while if he were to survive. He clenched his fists harder as he forced his wings into a fold. Not like they’d be much use anyways.

“That’s great to hear, but don’t call me Big D, Tommy,” Dream commanded in a slightly more lukewarm tone.

“Well, if we’re such close friends, shouldn’t I be able to call you whatever I want, Big D?” Tommy challenged.

He knew he was pushing it, but he didn’t care. If insults kept him from attempting murder then so be it.

“I suppose,” Dream responded coolly.

Tommy felt affronted. No retaliation? No rise? Dream was undermining every defense he had. At least he sort of got permission to annoy his captor.

“Glad we agree, Big D,” Tommy responded mockingly. “How’s the SMP? L’Manberg?”

“The SMP and L’Manberg are going great,” Dream responded.

At this point, Dream took out a netherite shovel and began to dig. Tommy watched him curiously. Using a netherite shovel was just pretentious, but that aside, what was he doing? Possibilities ranged in Tommy’s mind from a temporary shelter to a grave. His wings and stance shifted through nervous habit. Logstedshire was boring and lonely but he still had things he needed to do. He suddenly became aware of the to-do list stored away in his pocket.

“What are you doing?” asked Tommy with a slight waver.

Dream didn’t respond. He just continued to dig a shallow hole in the sand about 4 or 5 blocks deep. Tommy had half a mind to walk away and let Dream continue playing in the sand, but he really didn’t want to go into the mines. He shuddered at the thought of the dark, damp cave system he was creating. His wings especially shivered and he had to look up at the sky to remind himself that it was still there.

After a minute or so, Tommy heard the familiar placing of TNT and his entire body jumped back without any conscious input. Heart racing and wings spreading, Tommy quickly analyzed the quickest escape route. TNT never meant anything good.

Still, instead of running, Tommy shouted with arms shielding himself, “What the fuck, Dream?!”

Dream jumped out of the hole and placed a short stone wall around the explosive-laden pit. He looked at Tommy and the boy subconsciously shrunk.

“Drop your items in the pit,” ordered Dream, leaving no room for argument.

“What the fuck?! No! I worked hard for my things!” shouted Tommy, backing further away from the pit and spreading his wings, regardless of their flying capability.

“Don’t be difficult, Tommy,” chided Dream.

“Why should I let you just blow up my things?!” shouted Tommy once more in a panicked high pitch.

There was no way he would let Dream take his things. He hadn’t torn muscles, busted fingers, felled trees, and overcome his intense claustrophobia just for his tools to be destroyed. They weren’t perfect and their durability dwindled way quicker than it should, but they were all he had! His golden wings reflected the sun as his feathers puffed out.

“Think of this as a trust exercise,” responded Dream coolly.

Tommy caught the gleam of the sun against an enchanted purple axe that hung around Dream’s back. He didn’t miss how the masked man’s hand twitched. If he didn't comply, Tommy was sure that he would be cut down, wasting his last life on an act of defiance. With no armor, Tommy wouldn’t survive a single hit. He found no hostility in the lax posture of Dream, but the only thing that Tommy trusted the tyrant with was his ability to kill. 

Nervously and reluctantly, Tommy began to shuffle towards the pit. Every movement was slow and acted against his instinct to flee. Without his wings, Tommy stood no chance of escaping Dream if the man truly wanted to catch him. Still, his wings were tense and poised for a quick flight attempt if needed.

Tommy slowly withdrew his stone pickaxe, which was cracked and about ready to break, and let it fall into the hole. He did the same with his sword, axe, and shovel. Tommy turned to try and retreat as far as possible, but Dream caught him with a grip on his shoulder. It wasn’t tight enough to hurt, but it still held him in place and his back twisted in discomfort.

“Anything else?” Dream asked in a slightly accusatory tone.

“What do you mean? I just tossed in my tools,” Tommy retorted in a high pitch.

“I said, ‘items’. Not just ‘tools’,” Dream said evenly. “This includes any food you may have, any blocks, and any armor except from the clothes on your back. Everything you’ve gathered.”

Turning back around, Tommy saw a gloved hand lay on a worn, ornate shoulder of the axe, fingers brushing against the cruel blade. Although Dream’s mask hid any expression, he could tell that the man was staring at him intently, presumably through narrowed eyes. A cold northern wind suddenly picked up, tossing Dream’s green cloak and messy dirty blonde hair dramatically. He felt the wind against his wings and he tensed, longing to be safe in the skies rather than exposed on the ground.

With nothing else to do and being fully aware of the consequences, Tommy began to drop unevenly cooked steaks and stray bits of leather as well as various mob remains into the pit. It’s not like he knew how to brew so the spider eyes were worthless, but he still needed to eat and a bit of leather armor might’ve been nice. Tommy kept the to-do list secure in his vest.

“Can’t I at least keep my planks of wood? I’m in the middle of remodeling,” complained the winged teenager.

Dream just tilted his head slightly and Tommy hated how that one movement made him hurry to comply. With a low curse of pure hatred and spite, he dropped about three stacks of planks into the pit, mourning the loss of all his hard work.

The masked man then took his hand away from his axe and instead grabbed an arrow from his quiver, his enchanted bow glowing etherally in his other hand. The tip of the arrow glinted in the sun with some kind of oil and Tommy recognized it as a flaming arrow. Before the winged boy could react and flee to safety, Dream notched the arrow and released it into the pit, the hiss of the TNT echoing throughout the beach.

Adrenaline shot through Tommy’s system as his wings instinctually began to beat, but no lift was generated and he was stuck on the ground. Letting out a panicked sound, he turned his back and tried to run, but it was too late. Tommy dropped to the ground and covered his head.

An explosion rang throughout the beach and Tommy’s heart stopped.

Tommy curled slightly as he was pelted by bits of sand and gravel. Ears ringing from the unimaginably loud noise. He laid there for what felt like hours, convincing himself desperately that when he opened his eyes, he would not see Wilbur with a sword plunged through him. He would not see Techno shouting things that he could barely hear over the deafening explosion. 

He was not in L’Manberg. 

It was not November. 

Wilbur was dead. 

Techno disappeared.

He was not in L’Manberg. 

It was not November. 

Wilbur was dead. 

Techno disappeared.

He repeated this like a mantra until his frantic breaths steadied. He wasn’t dead. He was okay.

Slowly, Tommy staggered to his feet, shaking from the shock. He couldn’t hear the waves nor the words that Dream was apparently speaking. He could only see the tyrant’s mouth move under his mask, but nothing was audible as his ears rang and ached. Tommy was pretty sure his ear drums were busted.

He saw Dream holding out a red vial, similar to the one left in his tent a couple days ago, so in his shocked state of mind, he took it and drank it in one go. It had the same awful taste and so he concluded it was a health potion.

The ringing faded as sound popped back into the world. Soothing warmth spread to muscles that he didn’t even know were hurting. He was not in L’Manberg. He was in Logstedshire. Wilbur did not detonate L’Manberg. Dream blew up his items. For some reason, this recall did not calm Tommy’s nerves.

“Tommy!” Dream shouted (voice muffled, but getting clearer by the second) while snapping his fingers. “Are you back with us?”

“Do I have a choice?” Tommy spat as he ruffled his wings for emphasis.

“Thank you for doing what I asked,” the masked man praised, ignoring Tommy’s remark.

“It’s not like I had a fucking choice!” the teenager shouted. “You were threatening me!”

“It’s not like that hadn’t stopped you before,” Dream pointed out. “Now, I’m sure you’re wondering why I was gone for so long.”

“I really don’t care,” Tommy said.

Dream once again ignored Tommy’s remake and plowed on as if the teenager hadn’t said a word. Tommy growled lightly and narrowed his eyes, completely unimpressed by the older man’s nerve.

“I know you missed me terribly-”

“I really didn’t.”

“-and I know you miss everyone else by an equal measure,” Dream finished despite Tommy’s interruption.

“So what? You just came here to gloat and blow up my things?” Tommy said without much surprise.

“Of course not. What kind of friend would I be if I just left you hanging?” Dream asked.

“The kind of friend that grounds someone and then leaves them stranded,” Tommy responded.

“Both of those instances were for your own good.”

“Bullshit!” Tommy shouted, wings flaring. 

“I’d suggest watching your tone,” Dream said mildly.

“And why the fuck should I do that?” Tommy challenged.

The winged teenager strongly considered walking off to his mine and replacing the tools he had just lost in Dream’s demonstration while leaving the tyrant to clean up his own mess. However, before he could turn around and resume his day, several items were tossed in the sand before his feet. Sunlight glinted on the sheen of a full iron set of tools that was thrown before him.

The craftsmanship was far better than anything Tommy could produce as the iron was welded to the hilt instead of simply strung together and the ore was cut to a fine point rather than a blunt edge. The hilts were a beautiful and familiar redwood rather than the oak that was most common around Logstedshire. They painfully reminded him of home and he was caught between violently refusing the gift or holding them as though they were a great treasure.

“Because I meant to replace your stone set with iron. I had them specially created by a blacksmith in L’Manberg,” said Dream. “I’d suggest you take them.”

Caught by a terrible indecision, Tommy wavered as he said, “I don’t want them.”

“I know you do,” responded Dream while shifting his weight, growing bored of this interaction. “Otherwise, I could just blow them up as well. They didn’t cost me that much.” 

“No, no, that’s not necessary. Wouldn’t want them to go to waste!” the boy shouted desperately.

Frantically, Tommy grabbed them and stowed them in his inventory. He really wanted to refuse them, but he couldn't deny the one thing that might remind him of home. Dream just hummed as he began to fill the hold he made in the sand, any charred remnants were being hidden by the sand. Tommy eyed the tyrant wearily.

“Why did you feel it was necessary to blow up my things if you meant to replace them?” Tommy questioned.

Dream just shrugged and said, “follow me,” before walking off to an untouched piece of land. Tommy ran to catch up, hating how he followed the order, but ultimately pushing the thought out of his mind. 

“I want an answer,” Tommy demanded while drawing his new iron sword.

Dream stopped to look at him before harmlessly pointing the blade away from him.

“I’d suggest not pointing weapons at your friends, Tommy.” Dream was cut off.

“You’re not my friend,” Tommy interjected. 

“Whether or not you believe it, I am,” Dream began again with a dangerous edge. “Now as for my answer, it’s complicated and well beyond your understanding, but it’s for your own good.”

“Yeah, you always say that, but why couldn’t you just light them on fire or drop them in the ocean?” the boy questioned, slightly unnerved by Dream’s command.

“True,” the masked man said, humming as though the thought hadn’t occurred. “But I guess this is just more fun. You-” Dream pointed at Tommy who shrank back- “like to vandalize innocent homes. While I-” he withdrew the hand and held it to his chest- “like to use TNT. Make sense?”

After finishing his thought, Dream continued to walk and motioned for Tommy to follow. The winged teenager ruffled his wings in annoyance. He wanted to retort that George’s griefing had been an isolated event and that his punishment was completely out of order, but in doing so he’d have to admit guilt. He wouldn’t even be in this situation if he could still fly, but-

He pushed the thought out of his head and walked forward, pointedly ignoring himself. His golden wings caught the sun, but he refused to look at them. What good would that do? Everything was fine. He was fine. Everything would be fine. Tommy repeated this until he believed it.

A good ten or twenty blocks away from Logstedshire Proper, Dream stopped and surveyed the area, putting a hand on his hip as he regarded it. Tommy also looked around though he had no idea what Dream was looking for. The grassy knoll provided a nice view of the ocean with the dark oak forest equal distance from the area as it was to the oak walls. Overall, it looked the exact same as the rest of the Logstedshire property. Nothing but a bunch of sand, grass, and dirt.

Tommy impatiently sighed and Dream regarded him with a blank stare. He took the hint and put his hands up in defense, an annoyed expression on his face. Dream was so awfully annoying and he couldn’t wait until the man decided to leave. But then he’d be alone again. He told himself that was fine since he did just fine on his own these past couple days. It’s not like he’d be there forever and no company at all was better than Dream. Regardless of how many times the man said he was a friend, Tommy wasn’t desperate enough to listen.

“This spot seems pretty alright,” Dream said before digging in his inventory.

“Alright for what?” Tommy asked.

The masked man didn’t respond, but when he pulled out several black blocks with a purple sheen, Tommy’s heart skipped a beat. There was no way that Dream was being this generous. There was absolutely no way and no reason.

Throughout Tommy’s decade of interaction with the masked man, he had never once given without expecting a return. With basic citizenship, he wanted control. With L’Manberg, he wanted the discs. With national security, he wanted Tommy’s exile. Dream was not one to bargain with because even when his demands were met, the tyrant’s cooperation was only a temporary measure. A wearyness filled Tommy’s bones and his wings fluttered nervously.

“No, it’s okay, Dream,” Tommy said while stepping forth to stop the man from placing the obsidian. “I can make my own portal.”

“This isn’t up for debate,” Dream affirmed while placing a block.

“Please, Dream. It’s fine!” shouted Tommy as he took out his new iron pickaxe.

He began to strike the obsidian with the iron, but the ore barely chipped. It merely stained the ivory blade with black powder.

“Tommy,” the masked man warned while glaring at him. 

“What?! I’m just saying-”

“Don’t you want visitors?” asked Dream.

Tommy looked askance as he said, “well, yeah, but-”

“Then why don’t you want a portal?” asked Dream once more.

“I do, but-”

“Then step aside and let me build one.”

The tyrant pushed Tommy out of the way and continued placing obsidian in a rectangular shape. Accepting Dream’s gift felt dangerous. Tommy knew that he wanted something. He just knew it. Dream never gave charity, least of all to people he’d already condemned. 

“What do you want, Dream?” Tommy asked forcefully.

Dream’s hands stilled and he froze.

“I’m not stupid. I know you want something,” the winged boy continued. “Fact of the matter is that I have nothing to give. So, whatever it is, just leave me alone and get it from someone else.”

A beat of silence passed between Tommy and Dream. Nothing but the crashing of the waves and the sounds of sea birds could be heard. The wind ruffled the grass and black powder flaked off the compacted mineral, staining the grass around it a sooty black. Distantly, it reminded Tommy of L’Manberg and the explosion and all the repairs he still had to do. He looked away.

“Why would you think I wanted something?” Dream asked carefully, resuming his build.

“Because you always want something.” Tommy crossed his arms and ruffled his wings, knowing full well that he was correct.

Dream merely huffed a laugh and continued building. The winged teenager’s patience was running thin.

“Can’t I just do something nice for someone else?” he asked testily.

“Oh sure,” Tommy replied while shifting his weight. “But you never do it for free. There’s always a price.”

Dream hummed and placed the final block, the large rectangle of compact black stone looming over them. The tyrant’s green cloak was stained with the powdery residue that obsidian always left and his white mask turned slightly more gray in hue. He took out a flint and steel, but hesitated for a brief moment before walking over to Tommy and tossing him the utensil. Tommy fumbled a bit before holding the iron and flint in stable hands.

Tommy fixed him with a strange look.

“What?” Dream asked exasperatedly. “I built you a portal. If you’re so intent on me being someone that needs a quid pro quo for every action, then you light it and consider it even.”

The boy continued to stare and refused to move. Tommy was not born yesterday. He knew that Dream wanted something and it always had to be of equal significance or greater than what he gave. Lighting a portal in exchange for the portal being built? That’s not even close to equal.

Nevertheless, Tommy approached the unlit portal and crouched down before striking the flint with the steel. It took a couple tries before the shavings caught flame and a purple-hued plasma replaced the empty air within the confines of the obsidian. He felt slightly nauseous standing so close to the portal so he stepped back and turned to face Dream, carefully standing out of striking distance. He went to toss the flint and steel back at the masked man, but he held up a hand, refusing the return.

“No, you keep it,” Dream said. “It’ll be getting cold soon and you’ll need as much help as you can get.”

“Who are you suddenly? Mother Teresa?” Tommy challenged before stowing the utensil away.

Dream sighed and approached Tommy, only for the boy to immediately back up a couple spaces. The tyrant sighed irritatedly and adjusted his mask.

“Listen, Tommy,” Dream began hesitantly.

His behavior was so unlike Dream that Tommy immediately went on guard. His wings were flared slightly, poised for combat if it came to that, while the rest of his body stiffened. Blue eyes narrowed warily.

“I don’t expect you to understand what I’m trying to do here, but I-” he paused- “make a miscalculation and I didn’t mean for that to happen. I made a slight mistake and I am sorry,” Dream finished, forcing each word out like it was painful.

“So you’re remorseful all of a sudden?” Tommy pushed with a look of disgust, anger rising in each word he spoke. “So you weren’t sorry for killing me, you weren't sorry when my fucking brother died, you weren’t sorry when you blew up L’Manberg at the very start, and you weren’t even fucking sorry when L’Manberg lost everything again?!”

Tommy’s voice took a softer and incredulous edge as he continued, “but now that I’m exiled, you’re suddenly seeking repentance. Can you even hear yourself?”

Dream sighed and shook his head.

“You’ve got it wrong, Tommy,” said Dream. “I maintain that exiling you was for your own good, but I am sorry about your wings.”

“Fuck you, Dream,” Tommy spat. “You don’t deserve to be sorry.”

“I only want what’s best for you. I am your friend,” the masked man affirmed.

Tommy just scoffed and replied, “yeah, no doubt.”

Dream approached Tommy and he hated how he shrunk back slightly. The teenager straightened and flared his wings to compensate for his lapse. 

“Speaking of your own good, I have a few ground rules for the nether,” began Dream. “Rule one, no netherite mining. For the same reason that I clipped your wings-” Tommy ruffled his feathers subconsciously- “I don’t want you messing with those mines. They’re dangerous. Rule two is quite obvious. You cannot go to L'Manberg, no explanation needed. Rule three is you cannot build a separate portal elsewhere. For your safety, I need you here.”

“Whatever you say,” said Tommy.

“I need you to swear that you’ll listen.”

“Fine.”

“Repeat them back to me,” Dream commanded.

“Don’t you trust me?” Tommy challenged. “I thought we were friends.”

“Tommy,” Dream said with a hard tone.

The boy sighed petulantly.

“It’s not like I would’ve done any of those things anyways. I’m not stupid,” Tommy muttered.

“Were you even listening?” Dream tested.

“Of course I was fucking listening!”

“Then repeat them.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Tommy.”

The teenger in question jumped slightly at the harsh tone, but rolled his eyes and looked askance. Dream was very clearly losing his patience as he laid a hand on the shoulder of his axe. Tommy immediately shifted gears.

“Fine, fine! No need to do anything rash,” Tommy exclaimed. “Rule one is no netherite. Rule two is no L’Manberg. Rule three is no portals. Happy?”

“Very. Thank you,” Dream praised as though he hadn’t been about to tear Tommy apart.

The constant shifts in Dream’s behavior were certainly something the teenager needed to get accustomed to. He needed to learn when to push and when to comply, otherwise he could end up run through with a sword. Tommy already had some experience during Pogtopia with Wilbur, but he did not want to have to learn the cues again. A glint of the eye, a shift of the hand, a twitch of a knee. He didn’t want to be on constant guard again.

Tommy pushed the thought out of his mind.

“Okay, well, the day is still young, but I have other matters to attend to,” Dream declared before walking towards the portal. “Tomorrow, I want you to tell me if you see anyone strange, okay?”

“You're going to be back tomorrow?” Tommy asked in a complaining tone.

“I’ll be here every day from now. I promise,” Dream replied as though it were a comfort.

Tommy sighed and challenged in a whine, “why?! Don’t you have better things to do?” 

“You’re my friend,” Dream stated. “I make time for my friends.”

“Yeah, whatever you say,” the winged boy scoffed.

“Remember! Tell me about anyone who comes by.” The tyrant stepped up into the portal and he began to warp around the edges

“Yeah, yeah,” Tommy brushed it off.

Dream lowered his head which made Tommy quickly amend with a snappish, “fine! I promise!”

With that, Dream was gone and the winged boy sighed in relief. Now that he was alone, however, he had a whole other problem that he had forgotten about. The mines. He sighed and withdrew his to-do list from his vest. “Craft stone tools” had been replaced by “Craft iron tools”, but he crossed that off, feeling no sense of accomplishment. He almost wanted to craft his own set of iron just to spite Dream, but there was no iron within a one hundred block radius.

Tommy also crossed off “Construct nether portal” with a similarly empty feeling. All he left to do was finish constructing his shelter and find a girlfriend, but he had no idea how to accomplish the latter since there were no other human beings. He didn’t want to work on the house, but he also really didn’t want to go in the mines. Still, with nothing else to do and winter fast approaching, Tommy had no real choice and so he set off for Logstedshire Proper.

He felt strange. The past couple days he had established some sort of normalcy with a goal, but Dream had taken that from him. What was Dream’s aim? What was he hoping to gain by giving Tommy all these gifts? Tommy certainly had nothing to give. Suspicion and concern gnawed at him. He found it significantly harder to push away all these intrusive thoughts, but surely it was nothing a little exhaustion couldn’t fix.

Now at his wooden abode, Tommy went to his chest and withdrew some planks as well as some nails. He was suddenly reminded of the explosion Dream had set and that sparked another concern within him. He shook his head and flexed his wings, trying to push the thought out of his head.

Kneeling around an uncovered patch of dirt, Tommy set a plank and began nailing it. He counted the strikes of the blunt edge of the axe in his head. 

One

Two

Three

Four

The feeling didn’t go away. It just grew and festered the longer that Tommy ignored it, but still he set another nail and began to strike.

One

Two

He glanced up the sky without realizing and his third strike made the nail crooked. Cursing, he wedged the rogue nail between the blade of his axe and the wood, forcing it out. The wood splintered. He cursed again and bit his lip. 

Resetting the nail, he began to strike.

One

He made the same mistake and growled, not even bothering to take out the crooked nail. He threw his axe on the ground in a bit of rage and bared his teeth in frustration. His wings flared out and he got the sudden urge to punch a wall, but kept it in and tried to suppress the feeling.

Don’t think, don’t think, don’t think, don’t think. He repeated this hundreds of times, but the thoughts kept coming. He thought of Tubbo and he wanted to punch a wall. He thought of flying and he wanted to tear his wings from their sockets. 

Deciding work was a bit much for the day, Tommy picked up his axe and stomped over to his tent. He needed to sleep away these thoughts. Surely this was nothing a little sleep couldn’t fix. 

Not even acknowledging his surroundings, Tommy threw open the tent flap and stormed inside, not even securing the cloth door. He flopped on his bed and laid on his stomach, his golden wings ruffling in discontent. He forced his pillow over his head to try and muffle his thoughts, but if anything they grew louder. He growled.

Without Dream and without work, all the truths he furiously denied over the past couple days came flooding back. Tommy was helpless to stop them and frustrated tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.

He had no home. L’Manberg rejected him for a second time, at Dream’s behest, but it didn’t take much convincing for them to throw him out. He had no place there. But, Logstedshire certainly wasn’t a home. It was a prison.

However, perhaps it was no surprise why they wanted him gone. His past was riddled with war and conflict. It seemed that wherever Tommy went, pain was sure to follow. Tubbo ignored that old pattern for years, only for it to rear its head in the form of sooty obsidian walls and the attention of a very dangerous man.

Perhaps Tommy’s future was also destined to be blackened. He had no future here, but L’Manberg did not want him. Tubbo made that abundantly clear. Gritting his teeth, Tommy fought the notion that it all was a constant and hopeless game, but he couldn’t shake the thought. All his life had been a battle. Why should the following years be any different?

His own family abandoned him. Phil always pretended to care, but it was no secret the man just wanted to explore the Earth. Tommy kept him tied down and it was a blessing when he finally left, of that he was sure. Phil didn’t miss him. No one missed him. The only person that truly stuck around was Wilbur, but look at what happened to him! He was dead in a shallow grave, doomed to walk the Earth as an amnesic husk. Tommy doomed him to a pointless and miserable existence. Even Techno-

He refused to think about that man, drawing the pillow harder against his head. 

Tommy had no doubt that his friends regarded him the same as Techno. Too dangerous even for a thought. Tubbo probably hadn’t considered Tommy since the sentencing and why would he? No one except Dream had braved the ocean to see him, but Dream was not a friend nor would he ever be. Not even Fundy and Quackity, men who were outraged at his sentencing, attempted to make contact. He hadn’t seen anyone and maybe he deserved it.

All Tommy had were useless shadows that once were his wings. Anger reached a crescendo inside of him, the cymbals and drums pounding all at once that thought of one man. A great many things were his fault, but his wings? His wings were Dream’s fault. 

The man may have apologized, but Dream would not get forgiveness. He did not deserve his forgiveness. Tommy clenched his fists and growled despite himself. He wanted to kill Dream. He wanted to watch the life slowly drain out of him. He wanted Dream to feel the same loss and humiliation he did. His wings were useless and it was all Dream’s fault. 

It was all Dream’s fault. None of it was Tommy’s. None of it. Dream needed to die. He needed to die. Tommy needed to kill him-

With a sudden cry, Tommy threw the pillow from his head and watched it bounce harmlessly against the sides of the tent. Furious, he jumped up and burst out the cloth door as it waved in the wind. Now that Tommy was outside, he ran. 

He ran and ran and ran and thought about none of this was his fault. How it was all Dream’s. How the man needed to die. How he could kill him.

Tommy gasped as he realized that he had run into the freezing cold ocean. What was he thinking?! He was appalled at himself and had never felt more disgusted.

Staring at the waves with an intense look of self-loathing, Tommy stood knee-deep deep in the ocean and let his feet and legs numb from the cold. The almost languid low-tide current sucked the sand from under his feet, but replaced it with new clumps that buried them. His shoes and pants uncomfortably soaked up the freezing cold water and he began to shiver. His wings were subconsciously held high above the water. They shimmered brilliantly in the sun.

Teeth chattering, Tommy wondered when he had gotten so violent. Had his time on Pogtopia really rubbed off on him that much? Did Techno-

He found the mental fortitude to block the man from his mind. Too preoccupied by all that he had lost, he had no room for that man.

Tommy stood in the current for a few minutes longer before forcing himself to trudge back to camp in order to warm up. His whole body wracked with horrible shivers, but at least he was too cold to think. Tommy resolved to never think again.

If his thoughts were going to pin murder as the only resolve for a man that had just given him gifts, then maybe Tommy deserved to be away. Maybe he didn’t deserve L’Manberg.

Tommy suddenly wished he had potions to drink. Preferably the ones that granted slowness because of the chemical blankness they forced upon the consumer. All time slows down. Thoughts included. Tommy didn’t want to think.

Now back in Logstedshire, he halfheartedly lit a torch and stood by it, letting his frozen legs and feet thaw. He felt cold despite the heat and stared blankly at the flame. He wondered if it would hurt if he touched it.

Lazily moving his hand closer and closer-

Tommy jumped back into mental clarity as he touched the flame and he scrambled back on reflex, drawing his now-burnt hand close to his chest. He took out a water bottle and poured it over his hand, feeling the cool leak into the burn. He cursed. How could he be so stupid?

Shaking his head and gritting his teeth, he tore off a bit of his soaked pant leg and wrapped it around his burnt hand. Thankfully it was only a minor burn, but due to his experience with fire and explosions, he knew that infections set quickly with even the smallest of burns.

Leaning back, Tommy cursed how low in the sky the sun was. It was about a quarter of the way across the sky and he supposed that sunset would begin in a few hours. He did not want to go to sleep. Lowering his mental guard was what caused those violent thoughts and so he resolved to not let that happen.

He resolved to not sleep tonight and ironically felt energized at the thought. Who needed to sleep? Certainly not the largest man on this side of the server!

Standing up and ignoring the pain in his burnt hand, Tommy marched over to the patch of dirt that he had thrown his planks and nails on and began to work once more. He ignored any pain and any thoughts as he rode this emotional high throughout the rest of the day. It was as if Dream had never visited. It was as if Tommy hadn’t contemplated murder. If there was a slight manic franticness in the way he worked, that shouldn’t have been surprising. He just worked and worked and worked and did not stop even when the sun had set. Tommy simply placed torches and continued securing planks in the dim lighting.

And as he promised before, he did not sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tommy denial go brr. No, but seriously, I have a ton planned for this fic. A metric ton. I have a whole calendar created in Google Sheets for a rough timeline (I was thinking about two months in exile. Thoughts?) and a whole cycle of grief planned. Wow this fic is consuming my every day life and honestly? I'm living for it. 
> 
> Thank you so very much for the support. It blows me away and makes me even more excited to write. Truthfully, I check the comments every day and it makes me pog through the pain of school. Thank you all <3
> 
> Please go check out my friend who was a beta for this chapter. Their name is violet_sunflowers and they are lovely.
> 
> (Note from the future... we have fanart for this chapter! https://twitter.com/itsrinbabey/status/1363264579476860929)
> 
> As always, don't forget to hydro check and go unconscious for a few hours at night. Love you all.


	4. The Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> True to his word, Tommy did not sleep and if it were up to him? He would never sleep again. Unfortunately, Tommy never gets a choice these days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! So this chapter was another "problem child" so to speak. I have five separate drafts and I've had people read over it numerous times, but I just could never get it right. I think I've finally reached a point where I am satisfied and I honestly need to stop writing before I drag this chapter out any longer.
> 
> ...8 thousand words...
> 
> Brain go brrr.

Tommy hadn’t slept in two days. He could feel it in the heaviness of his eyelids, the soreness in his limbs, and the fierce headache that pounded with every action. Still, Tommy forced himself onwards as he shuffled over to the resource chest that Ghostbur had put together that first day. He wondered where Ghostbur with a dull sense of curiosity rather than genuine concern.

Everything about him was muted, but truthfully, he preferred it that way. Tommy’s thoughts terrified him that day. He sounded entirely too much like Wilbur, he had the same blood lust like-

He cut himself off. Turns out, it was easier to mute thoughts when one was exhausted.

Forcing himself to refocus, Tommy unlatched the chest and opened it only to find it completely empty. He sighed in annoyance. There wasn’t a spare twig to be found and he was just about ready to finish constructing a small shelter over his winter storage area. Tommy stepped away from the bare chest and stepped outside of Logstedshire for the first time since Dream’s visit yesterday.

Dream’s first visit had upset Tommy greatly and set him into a strange sort of rage. He swore to not sleep after that visit because his subconscious thoughts sounded entirely too familiar. His vigil, however, proved to be very useful because when Dream visited the following day, Tommy felt no fear. He didn’t pin the tyrant to the ground and-

Tommy grit his teeth as he ran a hand over the various cuts and grooves he’s carved into the walls. Sometimes, in the early hours of the morning when the stars still shone, the thoughts would insert themselves into his conscious mind and he would do anything to make them leave. Last night, methods included swinging an axe at the walls until his sudden rage left him. The night before, he would stand in the ocean until he was too cold to think.

But, as the sun rose, they became easier to manage. It was only when the moon was still up did they run rampant. At least when he was awake, he could distract himself. Tommy was honestly scared of the conclusions he might arrive at if he was asleep.

Sighing and running a hand over his red eyes, he looked over Logstedshire and felt a great sense of accomplishment. The flooring looked great in the pale, milky dawn. Around midday, the rough edges would show, but the planks looked fine in the low light. The wooden frame of his shelter threw a shadow over the oak walls and he allowed a smile to grace his tired face. It was all coming together, albeit slowly.

Turning away from Logstedshire, he drew his axe and began walking to the forest to begin collecting wood again. He had to hurry and collect as much as possible before Dream arrived. For some reason, the man only ever wanted what was on Tommy’s person, but felt indifferent towards the sad stacks of wood in his chest. Perhaps it was pity. 

A dull anger began to rise in Tommy’s chest, but he forced it down. He didn’t need to be pitied. 

Tommy didn’t have a lot for Dream to blow up yesterday. Just a bit of coal he had gathered, some torches, some raw meat, and some spider string. Mostly junk. Thankfully, he didn’t demand the tools he had given as a gift. Tommy had grown quite attached to their delicate craftsmanship, the L’Manberg seal etched into the redwood handles and the unblemished iron blades. 

Otherwise, Tommy had found a set of iron greaves, that he had strapped onto his calves, and an enchanted pair of golden boots, that he used to replace his old shoes, which had fallen apart due to the ocean water. He scavenged them off the bodies of some zombies that had tried to pick a fight last night. Tommy was pretty certain that Dream wouldn’t want to explode them since he seemed to be allowed to keep essential survival items. Armor was considered essential, right? Tommy thought so at least.

On his way to the forest, the teenager paused to admire the sunrise over the ocean. Pale shades of orange bled into the navy blue sky as the impossibly bright sun slowly rose above the horizon. Another successful night of work, thought Tommy as he stretched his wings and inspected them.

He always preferred to check his wings during sunrise and sunset because of the way the light caught his feathers. Careful to not linger on the missing primaries, he inspected the golden secondaries and tertiaries with pride. Tommy had considered trying to glide, but even the brush of wind against his wings or the sight of birds made a chasm of loss open in his heart, so he couldn’t bring himself to make an attempt. Besides, he was adjusting nicely to a life on the ground. 

Folding his wings neatly behind him, he continued on his way to the forest with an axe still in hand. Dream shouldn’t visit until about midday, if he practiced consistency, so Tommy wagered he had about four hours of peace.

Continuing his way down to the forest, he felt his headache growing stronger. Each time he closed his eyes, it felt like the sweetest relief, but he refused to sleep. Tommy didn’t know what lurked behind his eyes and he absolutely refused to become another Wilbur. He would not be the villain. He would survive as he always had done.

Still, he couldn’t ignore the complaining of his muscles as he trudged onward. The way his eyes stung simply keeping them open. His brain felt like mush and he couldn’t elicit any major reaction to anything. He just wanted to sleep, but he decided that sleep was dangerous. He didn’t need sleep.

Tommy situated himself in front of a dark oak and drew back his axe before striking the wood. Birds frantically called and fled from the branches while Tommy had to forcefully stop himself from watching them. His wings and heart twinged, but he ignored it as he reeled back for another strike. 

Out of the corner of his eyes, Tommy saw a silhouette in the forest. He was about to call out, but when he rubbed his eyes, the figure was gone. He sighed. A lonely pit forming in his chest. This wasn’t the first time he saw things in the past couple days.

Tommy swung the axe again, but a bad strike had the blade lodged into the wood. Not quite having the energy to wrench it out, the winged teenager just rested his arms and head on the handle. He watched the rising sun dapple the tree leaves on the forest floor. The floor started blurring into vague light and dark shapes. His eyes closed. 

He was so tired. He almost whined because of how desperately he needed to sleep, but he refused to let himself. Tommy was not a madman, he was not a murderer. However, his subconscious thoughts seemed to believe otherwise. He refused to sleep.

However, Tommy was helpless when he finally closed his eyes as he felt his whole body relax, practically shivering with the relief. 

Maybe a few minutes wouldn’t hurt.

Without any conscious input, Tommy began to drift off.

-T-

“-ommy?” a voice called out nearby. 

Tommy grumbled incoherently and pretended as though he didn’t hear anything. It was likely just Tubbo asking his opinion on something inconsequential, or Wilbur waking him to send him back to work. He didn’t care. They could wait. He was tired.

“Tommy?” The voice sounded much closer and was much too soft to belong to either Tubbo or Wilbur.

No matter. He nestled further against the ground, disturbing dirt and leaves.

Wait-

Why was he on the ground?

“Tommy!” the voice called out again (much more clearly) with concern. 

The boy in question jumped back to reality with a harsh realization that Tubbo-

He pointedly stopped his thoughts there as jolted upright into a seating position, much to his body’s protest. Tommy had to wake up instantly. Dream would be furious to see him lying on the ground. He refused to look weak. He absolutely refused.

Blearily looking up against the glaring sunlight, he saw a hooded figure, but it was not Dream. Instead, he saw a humanoid demon with pitch black skin looking down at him, white eyes narrowed in confused concern.

“Bad?” Tommy questioned in a voice rough with sleep. 

Tommy immediately jolted once more with fear coursing through his veins. Why had he fallen asleep? When had he falled asleep? He didn’t remember. He didn’t remember.  _ Oh god _ , why couldn’t he remember?!

Grounding the heels of his palms into his eyes, he shook his head. His sleep-addled brain felt fuzzy as he struggled to get his bearings straight. He looked around and saw wood chips scattering the area. There were wood chips in his hair and stuck to his clothes. Looking up, he noticed the iron blade of his axe firmly lodged into the tree. He must have passed out.

“Tommy, are you listening?” Bad asked in mild annoyance as he offered a hand to Tommy.

The teenager refused to take it as he shook out his wings and stood. The world swam around him and spread his arms and wings for balance before eventually steadying. Apparently, Bad had been speaking while Tommy struggled to reorient himself.

“Sorry, what was that?” Tommy asked.

“I asked why you were sleeping on the ground,” responded Bad, only looking slightly affronted by Tommy’s refusal for help.

“I just like sleeping on the ground, Bad. Don’t judge,” Tommy deflected.

“With an axe lodged above your head?”

“Like I said,” Tommy stated while struggling to dislodge the axe. “Don’t judge.”

The hoodie-wearing demon wore a wry expression as he shifted his weight to one side. He watched as Tommy struggled to remove his axe.

“Need help?” Bad asked.

“Nope,” responded Tommy flatly.

Bad wasn’t having any of it, however, as he gently pushed Tommy to the side and planted both hands on the axe while bracing a foot against the tree. In one swift motion, the axe slid out and he held it out for the winged boy to take. 

  
“Right, well, I loosened it for you,” Tommy said as he took back the axe with only slightly wounded pride.

He hadn’t meant to have fallen asleep and he certainly didn’t mean to get his axe stuck. Most importantly, he did not mean to be caught off guard by someone, who for all he knew, was allied with Dream. Tommy shifted his wings uncomfortably.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” responded Bad irritably. “Listen, when was the last time you slept?”

“About a few minutes ago,” Tommy said while looking askance. “I mean, you saw me, so it’s a bit of a silly question.”

“Very clever. No, I mean actually slept,” insisted the demon while gesturing wildly. “Like, in a bed?”

“Ah, gotcha,” Tommy responded in fake realization. “I’d wager about a day. Maybe two. Time really starts to blend together in exile, you know?”

“No, I don’t really. But two days?! Tommy, you’re going to kill yourself!” Bad exclaimed.

The winged boy scoffed. As if people could actually die from sleep deprivation. Wilbur hardly ever slept in Pogtopia and he was just fine. Tubbo was lucky to get a solid hour before waking up repeatedly through the night. Even Eret, the king of the SMP, was a chronic insomniac. Tommy himself was no stranger to abnormal sleeping patterns and he felt fine.

Then he realized just how beaten he truly was. He passed out without realizing it, his muscles ached at every movement, and his head was pounding viciously. The worst part is that his memory of the past couple nights was fuzzy at best. 

However, he wasn’t thinking those terrible thoughts and wasn’t that the goal?

If he had to spend one more hour playing mental gymnastics trying to avoid the thoughts of murdering-

To avoid thinking about Tubbo-

To stop reliving-

He mentally stopped himself. Thoughts were easier to control when he hadn’t slept in a while. Sure, he was ragged. Sure, he felt awful. But, he was safe from his own subconscious.

“I feel fine, Bad,” Tommy responded in a light tone while rubbing his eyes.

He swayed slightly and Bad quirked an eyebrow.

“You’re absolutely sure about that?” the demon challenged.

“Yeah,” Tommy replied half-heartedly. “But anyways-” he shook his head and spoke with forced energy- “do you want to see Logstedshire? I’ve been working on it quite a bit!”

“Sure, I guess,” responded Bad with mild concern.

The blonde boy marched towards the direction of Logstedshire and motioned for Bad to follow. After a beat, slow and hesitant footsteps followed behind Tommy. They didn’t talk about much on the way to the towering oak pillars ahead. Bad would mention the weather and Tommy would ask a wildly inappropriate question. The demon would get flustered and the boy would laugh.

Tommy’s forced laughter sounded just a couple octaves too low, but if Bad noticed, he didn’t say anything as they continued their way down the leaf-ridden path. A sudden wind reminded him of the light chill in the air. His wings, which had been folded behind him, fluffed up instinctually against the breeze and flared slightly.

Tommy could feel a blackened hand reaching for his wings and he spun around very suddenly, snapping his wings back into a fold.

“Don’t touch my wings!” he shouted.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Bad asked with a hand still reaching out. 

“I’m fine!” affirmed Tommy, still in a shout. “Just don’t go touching another man’s wings!”

The demon held out both hands in surrender.

“Right, right. Sorry,” he backpedaled. “They just looked different. Did something hap-”

“So!” Tommy interjected and cut off Bad, who huffed. “Meet any interesting girls lately?”

“Tommy-”

“I know I haven’t. There aren’t many girls around here. In fact, there isn’t much of anybody around here! But one of my objectives is to find a girlfriend, but honestly I think I’ve been set up to fail and-”

“Tommy!” Bad shouted.

The boy in question froze at the uncharacteristically loud voice.

“I’m sorry for shouting,” began the demon gently. “But I need to know if someone hurt you or if you hurt yourself. Who all has been here?”

“Hurt?! Are you crazy? As if someone as large as me would let myself get hurt in any way, shape or form,” Tommy exclaimed.

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I. I’m fine!” 

“I’m just concerned,” Bad affirmed.

“Well there is absolutely no need. Everything is exactly how it’s meant to be,” Tommy replied.

They didn’t talk much after that interaction, but a tension in the air made the short walk back to Logstedshire feel like miles. Tommy doubted that Bad would actually care about his wings, but the missing feathers still felt raw. Any mention of his wings, even subconsciously, always lowered his guard and the thoughts came flooding back. He could not let that happen around another person. He didn’t trust himself.

Eventually, they reached the clearing that Tommy now called his temporary home. They stopped at the edge and Tommy spread his arms out wide in a grand gesture.

“This is home sweet home!” the teenager declared.

“It’s… nice,” Bad said, face screwing up in concern. 

Tommy watched the demon’s eyes survey the area and he felt slightly nervous. His tend was a bit tattered from the elements, the white cloth stained a pale yellow and splattered with ocean spray during high tide. There were a couple tears left from various mobs, but Tommy hadn’t repaired them because he wasn’t sleeping much these days. The wooden path he had constructed was riddled with potholes and the torches were burnt down to nubs.

“I don’t want to argue about architectural design or anything, but do you really live here?” Bad asked. “When I first walked past here, I thought it was a ruin.”

“Why? What’s that supposed to mean?” Tommy responded in an affronted, hurt voice. “I did my best.”   
  
“I’m sure you did, but hasn’t anyone helped you?”

“What do you mean?”   
  
“Hasn’t anyone been here?”

Tommy shifted and responded, “Dream’s been here, but I wouldn’t say he’s actually been helping. You’re the only other person to visit.”

“What about Ghostbur?’ Bad prompted.

“Is he really even a person?” Tommy shot back.

“He’s your brother, isn’t he?”

“I guess.”

They shuffled around a bit, awkwardly trying to figure out if they should continue this line of thought. Exile wasn’t meant to be comfortable, so Tommy was a bit confused as to why Bad was making a big deal out of it. The demon looked uncomfortable, like he wanted to say something but didn’t know if he should. Tommy sighed and ruffled his wings irritably.

“So!” Tommy said suddenly, making Bad jump slightly. “On the left, you’ll see my tent. It’s in a bit of a rough shape, but that’s fine.”

“Don’t you sleep there?” the demon muttered.

The winged teenger brushed off the comment with a simple, “It’s more comfortable than it looks.”

He didn’t want Bad thinking he was too weak to fend for himself. Tommy was a big man. The largest on this side of the server! He didn’t need anyone worrying about him or, even worse, pitying him. His biggest enemy was himself and his own thoughts, but he was taking appropriate measures to combat them. Even if that meant extending his vigil.

“On the right, there is Logstedshire in all its glory,” Tommy continued as he led Bad into the oak building.

Admittedly, in the bright daylight, Logstedshire was considerably less impressive. The walls were uneven, though this could be dismissed as a styling choice. The flooring almost looked hazardous with nails and planks sticking out at odd angles. The frame he had just begun constructing looked ready to topple over at the slightest breeze. Still, Tommy held his head up high and pretended as if they were in the presence of great architecture. 

Bad looked slightly awkward as he replied, “looks great. I especially like how everything is wood. Nothing else. Just wood.”

“Thank you, Bad! You know, I’ve always taken you as a man of culture,” the winged teenager said, grinning smugly.

“Thank you, Tommy,” the demon responded sincerely. “Hey, would you mind stepping out for a second?”

“Step outside? Why?” Tommy shifted nervously, wings twitching in their fold.

“Just trust me.”

Instantly, this phrasing reminded Tommy of Dream and so he rushed to the defensive. His wings ruffled and began to flare, but Tommy forced them back. 

“If you want me gone, you can just say so,” the boy bit out in very sudden frustration. “No one else really wants me around anyways!”

Bad was clearly startled by Tommy’s sudden outburst and so he approached the boy placatingly. The winged teenager felt slight guilt, but in his sleep deprived mind, he thought he was being perfectly reasonable. Bad wanted him gone. They all wanted him gone.

“Hey, hey, hey. I never said that.” Bad said, arms outstretched in surrender. “I don’t want you to leave. In fact, I have a surprise for you and that’s why I wanted you to step out for a second.”   
  


“A surprise? What? A knife in the back?” Tommy laughed derisively. “I’m not stupid.”

“I never said you were. Would you prefer I just give them to you now?” the demon offered.

Tommy eyed him with distrust. He half expected Bad to pull out a netherite axe and begin tearing at his floorboards and demanding that Tommy toss in his valuables. Maybe he’d want to destroy his iron set for a new one? The winged boy didn’t know, but he certainly did not trust it. A whole week without any visits or help and suddenly this lukewarm acquaintance comes bearing gifts? It didn’t sit right.

“What’s the catch?” Tommy asked while eyeing Bad.

Once again, the demon just held out his hands and said, “no catch.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t have to.”

Bad sighed and withdrew a wrapped gift, holding it out for Tommy to take. Every social interaction the boy had in the past week included an explosive, so Tommy half expected it to be loaded with TNT. This aside, he took it from the demon and tore into the wrapping, ready to throw it if it started ticking. 

Carefully pulling off the lid, Tommy saw several stacks of oak logs condensed inside the box along with a low durability diamond pickaxe. His face changed from one of suspicion to one of concern. 

“I also have an ender chest and some chicken,” Bad said. “The presentation would have been better, but you kinda put me on the spot.

At a loss for words, Tommy looked up at Bad with furrowed brows. 

“What’s the catch?” he repeated.

“There is no catch, Tommy,” Bad affirmed.

“But why?”

The demon shifted awkwardly and wrung his hands together as he searched for the right words.

“Many people of L’Manberg regret your exile. However, they don’t want to go against Tubbo and Dream so they set me up as a sort of neutral party,” explained Bad. “In other words, this isn’t from me, but rather from Fundy, Quackity, Niki, and especially Ranboo. The ender chest is courtesy of him. He seemed especially distraught about your leaving.”

“And Tubbo?” Tommy asked with a dangerous amount of hope.

“The president’s name is pretty hot at the moment. I haven’t seen him,” Bad said with sympathy. “I’m sorry.”

Tommy deflated back into his usually subdued mood, wings drooping slightly. He quickly picked himself back up and took the gifts from the box, feeling much better about taking them. Maybe they actually did care? Maybe Dream was wrong? Maybe Dream was the one that was causing him all this unnecessary pain.

Anger began to rise up inside of Tommy, but once again, he pushed it back. He couldn’t afford to get angry, especially with Bad not ten blocks away from him. He took a deep breath and was reminded of just how ragged he felt.

Bad cleared his throat and asked, “Do you want the other gifts?”

“Yeah, sure,” Tommy said.

As prompted, the demon put down the ender chest that Ranboo had made him and handed him half a stack of cooked chicken. He really didn’t feel hungry despite the fact that he hadn’t really eaten much in the past day or so. Tommy was getting sick of unevenly cooked beef and he supposed nicely cooked chicken would be a nice change of pace. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to eat and he just stored it away with his new pickaxe and wood stacks.

  
“Oh! Also,” Bad interjected while searching through his inventory. “I found something for you along the way. There was a village and a golem dropped it- come on, I know it’s- ah ha!”

The demon presented Tommy with a disc. The boy’s heart swelled with apprehension and he wanted to take it, but it felt forbidden. His wings flared out in surprise. Tommy pretended not to notice the way Bad’s eyes traced where his primaries used to be and how his face contorted with sympathy. There were more important matters at hand and Tommy was at a loss for words.

“I know, it’s not one of  _ the _ discs, but I know you like music,” Bad trailed on. “If you don’t like this track, I can try to find you another-”

Bad way cut off as Tommy quickly grabbed it and inspected it with a keen eye and slightly shaking hands. It was worn with age and had scratches, it would probably skip around quite a bit. Tommy normally kept his old discs in mint condition-

He immediately put them out of his mind. That was a fight for another day.

The disc currently in his possession was adorned with a red label around the inner circle. He didn’t hear this track too often, but he knew every music disc by heart.

“Chirp,” Tommy said fondly. “I haven’t heard this one in a long time.”

Faintly, he remembered how Wilbur used to play music discs all the time when he was learning how to play guitar. He always loved music and spent months trying to learn how to play “Chirp”, but ultimately gave up because of how difficult the intro was. He always ranted about how it ‘wasn’t really even music’ and how ‘the composer should be ashamed’, but Tommy and Phil would always laugh because they knew it was just the frustration talking.

“Oh, you know this one?” Bad asked with faint curiosity. 

“Yeah,” Tommy said, tone still soft in fond remembrance. “Wilbur used to play it.”

“Does Ghostbur play?” 

Tommy scoffed and said, “he pretends to.”

“I’ve heard him sing the L’Manberg anthem once or twice.”

“Yeah, but he always gets one of the verses wrong.”

“Didn’t he write it?”

“That he did,” Tommy affirmed. “Not that he remembers.”

Bad once against shifted awkwardly, his white eyes narrowing slightly in sympathy. Ghostbur’s amnesia was a large part of Tommy’s mental fall back in L’Manberg. He took his brother’s death worse than anyone. Even their own father. Not that Phil was around much. He mostly stayed at home or flew off to God knows where. Tommy really struggled the first few months afterwards. He rarely left his house. Tubbo checked in frequently, as did Niki, Quackity, and most other L’Manbergians, but it didn’t really help. None of them knew Wilbur like he did and now, none of them ever would.

Tommy must have spaced out at some point because Bad cleared his throat once more and changed the conversation.

“Anyways, do you have a jukebox around here? Maybe we could listen to some music,” the demon suggested lightly.

The winged boy once again scoffed.

“Do you really think I have any diamonds? Not to mention, I doubt Dream would let me have one for very long,” Tommy said bitterly.

“Why would Dream care?” Bad asked incredulously, narrowing his eyebrows. “Doesn’t he have better things to do?

“Apparently not. I’m his favorite person to taunt nowadays,” Tommy responded, but in a quieter voice he added, “he’s the only one to have visited me.”

“Well, Dream is a muffin.”

“Dream is a dick.”

“Language, Tommy!” Bad chastised.

“I’m just saying it like it is!” Tommy defended.

“Anyways, I think I might have a diamond on me,” the demon said as he rummaged through his inventory once more. 

Bad held out a singular diamond for Tommy to use. Apparently, he had never built a jukebox before. Approaching his worn and splintered workbench, Tommy crafted some planks out of the wood he had been given and arranged eight of them around the diamond. 

“I never knew that jukeboxes were a thing you could even make until just recently,” Bad said conversationally.

“Really?” Tommy asked. “I’ve been crafting these for years. Someone always ends up taking them or breaking them.”

The demon just hummed as Tommy placed the jukebox on the other side of his crafting table. He smiled slightly as he inserted “Chirp” into the disc slot and it began to play. The winged boy leaned his head and back against the wall and allowed his eyes to close. He was suddenly reminded of how much he wanted to sleep, but he allowed that temptation to be drowned out as the slightly distorted melody began to play. 

The intro almost sounded like a beach song, but then dissonance played longer notes about a few seconds into it. Wilbur used to always say how this song reminded him of an astronaut. Tommy never really understood it, but listening to it again, he could kind of hear it. It was a very calm and repetitive melody that could represent how space kept dancing to the same beat, never really changing. It reminded Tommy of how he was alone in Logstedshire, much like the astronaut in space. No one could visit him and he was miles away from anything familiar. A fish completely out of the water.

Wilbur used to describe how the dissonance in the beginning represented space because it was impossible to play with only one instrument. He shifted the notes and keys thousands of times, but it never sounded right. Much like space, he used to say, some things just aren’t meant to be understood.

“This song reminds me of an astronaut,” Tommy commented, breaking the music-filled silence.

“That so?” Bad asked with a smile.

“Yeah.” Tommy said. “A female astronaut.”

“Oh?”

Tommy gave no further explanation as the music shifted into the clearer melody, this one truly sounding like space. 

“This is a really good part of the song,” Tommy said as Bad hummed.

The intermittent high notes reminding him of stars, twinking with no real rhyme or rhythm. It was a happy song, Tommy decided and suddenly felt melancholic. If his astronaut was happy up in space, maybe he could learn to be happy in Logstedshire. He missed Tubbo. He missed Wilbur. He missed Quackity. He missed Phil. He missed Niki. He even missed-

No, Tommy decided. He did not miss him. He refused to even  _ think _ about him. He didn’t deserve it.

Tommy relaxed as he let the thought go and fell back into the music, listening and enjoying the notes until the final few notes repeated the original melody before fading back into silence. 

“That’s certainly one of the weirder ones I’ve heard,” Bad said once the music had stopped. 

“Believe me,” Tommy said. “There are much weirder ones.”

“No kidding. I’ll never forget when Sapnap forced me to listen to 13-” Tommy could see Bad suppressing a shudder- “but anyways, why don’t we repair your tent? So you can actually sleep tonight?”

Tommy sighed and reluctantly said, “I can’t sleep, Bad.”

“Can’t sleep?” the demon asked. “Like insomnia?”

“No.” He paused. “More like, I’m scared of what might happen if I actually go to sleep.”

The demon in the red and black hoodie tilted his head, concern shining in his white eyes. Tommy didn’t have much reason to doubt the validity of his sympathy, but he didn’t want to admit the true reason to another being. That he was too weak to control his own thoughts. That he really was too dangerous to be around people. That he deserved to be kicked out.

The music had shaken something loose in Tommy and he no longer wanted to suppress his thoughts. He was just tired. He didn’t feel any anger, but he knew that one lapse in control would cause another slash mark against his walls. He was just too tired.

“You don’t need to tell me, but I might be able to help. You need to sleep, Tommy.”

“I’ve been getting on just fine without it.”

“Have you really?” Bad asked with a bit more force. “Just look at yourself. You look miserable.”

Tommy huffed a laugh and plastered a smile on his face as he said, “hey now, Bad! I might not be able to shower and stuff out here, but that doesn’t mean you need to be rude about it! I’m sure the women still love me.”

“Tommy,” Bad pressed. “I’m not kidding.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re just concerned about me,” Tommy said.

“I  _ am _ concerned about you! I want to help.”

“Well, fine,” Tommy conceded. “If you really want to help then I suppose we can repair my tent.”

“Promise you’ll sleep in it tonight?”

“I promise I’ll try.”

With that, Bad helped Tommy move the ender chest next to his furnace and Tommy picked up the jukebox. He wasn’t thrilled about sleeping or having any sort of interaction with his subconscious, but the music had seemed to help a few minutes ago, so it might help him sleep. 

Walking along the worn wooden path, Bad kept suggesting adding actual lights to the path so the mobs would stop tearing it up or replacing the wood with stone. Tommy nodded and pretended to take each and every suggestion into consideration, but he internally refused to do anything. He really didn’t care about cosmetics that much. If a guest was offended by his architecture, then they should just fix it themselves.

After a couple moments, they had arrived at Tommy’s patchwork white tent. The cloth was torn and reflected the midday sun brightly, making them shield their eyes. Bad took some old cloth out of his inventory while Tommy tore the old one off the spikes. 

It only took a few minutes for them to set it back up and soon, Tommy had a new tent with a jukebox inside. He felt pretty good, all things considered.

Just before Tommy was going to thank Bad for all the help, he got a horrible sinking feeling that had become all too familiar in the past few days. It was noon, he realized with a jolt. He couldn’t quell the intense apprehension building up inside of him. He just knew all the joy this day had brought was going to come to a swift and brutal end.

Hastily taking the music disc out of his inventory, he forced it into Bad’s hands. The demon was startled by Tommy’s sudden and frantic movement, but nevertheless took the disc back into his possession.

  
“Bad, I need you to take this and run,” Tommy said with so much urgency and his voice was shaking.

“What? I don’t understand,” Bad replied as his stance stiffened.

“Dream will be here any moment!” the boy urged, his golden wings snapping open. “Run!”

“And leave you alone with him?”

“Yes!”

“I’m not leaving.”

Tommy bared his teeth and growled in frustration.

“You don’t understand!” Tommy shouted.

“Then tell me what’s wrong!” Bad retorted.

Before the teenager could formulate another reason as to why the demon should run away while he still could, he heard the tell-tale distorted warbling of the nether portal being activated. Fearfully, he raised his head over the newly constructed tent, wings fluttering in nervous energy.

True to form, a tall man wearing a green cloak and black hunter boots stepped away from the sooty nether portal. He brushed the ash flakes off his cloak and stained the grass black while knocking soot off the outsoles of his shoes. Tommy’s breath caught in his throat as the man began to look around. 

Tommy ducked back under the tent to compose himself. He steadied his breathing and cleared his mind. This has more or less become routine, he told himself. Dream won’t hurt him, he told himself. He wasn’t sure if he believed himself, but carried on anyways. He forced a neutral expression and wicced the fear out of his tired blue eyes.

Bad looked nothing short of disturbed and Tommy could feel the demon’s conflict. Dream had always been an ally of Bad. Maybe even a friend. To be honest, Tommy didn’t really care for the conflict. He just wanted to get through the day and move on. 

“Tommy!” the boy heard Dream shout in the distance. 

Sighing, Tommy steeled him and walked out from behind the tent, straightening his hair and feathers as best as he could. He knew he looked awful, what with his red eyes and ragged clothes, but if Dream wanted him to have a decent appearance, he should’ve brought him clothing or a brush or really anything.

“Hi, Dream,” Tommy greeted in a flat tone.

“Afternoon,” the masked man replied. “I see you have a visitor today.”

“Yup. Just Bad dropping by and saying hello.”

“Has anyone else come by?”

“No,” Tommy said irritably. “Just like yesterday and the day before. Why do you even care?”

“Because, Tommy,” Dream began with a hard edge. “I am your friend.”

The winged boy ruffled his feathers and rolled his eyes. The tyrant was no friend of his. He just wanted control over him. Dream truly was a miserable being if he got pleasure out of tormenting an exiled teenager with nothing to his name.

“You’re not my friend, Dream,” replied Tommy like clockwork.

Bad was standing in Tommy’s peripheral, just watching the interaction. Tommy saw the demon’s lips thin in disapproval, but he did not make his presence known. Once Dream greeted Tommy in his usual fashion, he approached Bad with arms outstretched and what Tommy could only assume was a smile under his mask.   
  
“Bad, it’s so nice to see you!” Dream said while going up to hug the demon.

Bad merely shied away and crossed his arms, clearly refusing the hug. The cloaked man dropped his arms and acted as though nothing had happened. 

“I haven’t seen you in months. How long has it been?” Dream continued.

“A year,” Bad replied shortly.

“That’s right. Well, it’s great to see you.”

Dream sounded sincere, but Bad simply hummed and made no effort to continue the conversation. Tommy wished that the demon would distract Dream so that the tyrant paid less attention to him. Maybe he wouldn’t have to lose all his possessions again today. Maybe he wouldn’t have to be forced back in time because of an explosion. Maybe he’d be lucky.

Unfortunately, fate was not on Tommy’s side as he watched Dream take out his netherite shovel and begin to rapidly tear at the earth. The speed at which he could dig up the soil was impressive and more than a bit intimidating. Tommy forced his breathing to remain steady and forced his wings to stay in their fold despite the nerves firing and telling him to run. Maybe he’d be able to get away with tossing very little.

“Alright, Tommy,” Dream began. “You know the drill.”

The winged boy sighed and tossed in a stack of wood, leaving several safe in his inventory, as well as some stone he had collected and the old cloth from his tent. 

“What’s going on here?” Bad asked suspiciously.

Tommy rolled his eyes as Dream responded, “nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“I think I will worry about it,” the demon pressed. “It looks like you’re tithing.”

“I’m not tithing. These aren’t taxes,” responded Dream.

“Then what are they?”

“Like I said, don’t worry about it.”

Tommy watched the interaction warily. He shifted awkwardly as they argued, his boots and greaves suddenly feeling very heavy and for some inexplicable reason, he felt guilty. Tommy rubbed his eyes. He needed to sleep.

“Tommy,” Dream said once Bad had quieted down. “Is this all of it?”

“Yup, that’s all of it,” Tommy replied, lying through his teeth.

“Are you absolutely sure?”

“Of course.”

“What about your armor?” Dream prompted with a hard tone.

Tommy looked askance and shifted his wings as he said, “these weren’t gifts. I got these myself.”

“Doesn’t matter,” replied the tyrant while motioning for Tommy to drop them into the pit.

“No! I’m not letting you take my things again!” Tommy protested.

He felt brave now that Bad was around. It was hard to confront Dream when he was alone, but maybe, if it came to a fight he’d be able to win. Or at least he’d have witnesses to plead his case. Bad a neutral party and so he had no reason to lie on behalf of either Tommy or Dream, but Tommy sensed a lot of hostility from Bad directed at Dream. Apparently, Tommy’s exile was unpopular with many people, even those outside of L’Manberg. That gave Tommy some hope.

“Tommy, we’ve been over this a million times,” Dream said.

“I don’t care! It’s not right!” Tommy exclaimed. “You have no right to do this every day!”

Bad’s voice cut in as he said, “this happens every day?”

“Yes!” Tommy said.

“Tommy, that is enough.” Dream laid a hand on the shoulder of his axe, which was strung around his back. 

Without any conscious effort, Tommy began unclasping the greaves around his legs and tossed them into the pit. He did the same with his boots. All bravado was gone with a single threat. Tommy felt disgusted with himself.

“Good. Thank you,” Dream said in a pleased voice.

“It’s not like I had a choice,” Tommy replied.

“You  _ should _ have a choice,” Bad cut in.

Tommy seriously doubted that was true as Dream placed a brick of TNT and drew a flaming arrow from his quiver as well as his bow. The winged boy raced away from the tyrant and ducked behind his tent, covering his ears. Bad took a few hesitant steps back as though he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

Dream strung the arrow and released it. The TNT ignited and hissed throughout the beach, making Tommy’s skin crawl. Then, as usual, an explosion rang out as clumps of dirt and grass were strewn about the clearing. Thankful, Tommy’s tent was not damaged.

“What the- Dream!” Bad exclaimed. “Was that necessary?!”

“I assure you, everything I do is necessary,” Dream replied as he brushed past the demon and approached Tommy. 

Defiantly, the winged boy met Dream where his eyes were meant to be and flared his wings. He may have complied, but he still had pride that he was going to protect. Dream could take everything from Tommy, all of his items, but he would never take his spirit.

“It’s fine, Bad,” the winged boy said, eyes not leaving Dream. “It’s not a big deal.”

“I’m glad you see it that way, Tommy,” praised the tyrant. “I don’t do these things for the fun of it.”

“You literally said blowing things up was fun.”

“Blowing things up, yes,” Dream conceded. “But I don’t like taking things from my friends.”

At this point, Bad had stormed up to the two men and made his voice heard.

“Then why do you do it?” the demon challenged through narrowed eyes

“I do it because I have to,” Dream said.

“Oh really?!” Bad shouted white pointing a pitch black against Dream’s chestplate. “So it was necessary to leave Tommy defenseless? To take the only things he owns?”

Dream just stared and stood firm as the man who was once his friend verbally berated him. Tommy felt the tension between the two and his wings screamed at him to take flight. If only he could.

Meanwhile Bad pressed on, “you found it completely necessary to take away Eret’s kingdom? To then take away George’s crown? To betray Sapnap? Did you really not take any joy in destroying these lives?”

“Bad-” Dream attempted to cut in.

“No!” Bad shouted. “You used to be my friend! You used to stand up for us. We used to mean something to you. But you’ve made it abundantly clear that we mean  _ nothing _ to you. You only care about your muffin-headed obsession with the discs!”

All anger slowly left the demon’s body as he took a step back and looked rather uncomfortable after his outburst. Tommy was slightly scared. He had never seen the usually kind-hearted and gentle Bad get this upset.

“Sorry,” the demon said after a moment, not meeting Dream in the eyes. “I didn’t mean to shout.”

The green cloaked tyrant put a hand on Bad’s shoulder. The demon shrugged the hand off, but Dream carried on like nothing happened. 

“It’s okay,” Dream said. “I forgive you.”

Tommy could hear Bad mutter, “I don’t need your forgiveness,” but Dream did not mention it or acknowledge it. He knew that the masked man heard it, though. He hears everything. 

“It’s been a long day for you, I’m sure,” Dream said. “Why don’t Tommy and I escort you back to the nether hub?”

Tommy felt sympathy for the demon. He looked horribly drained from his outburst. The winged teenager wished he had jumped in while Bad was tearing into Dream, but suddenly felt less secure about rising against him. Tommy was too tired to feel angry, however. He suddenly just wanted to sleep.

He debated going with Dream to escort Bad back to L’Manberg, but he honestly didn’t think he could make the journey. His brain felt muddled and his headache had come back with great ferocity. The backs of his eyes stung each time he closed them. He needed to sleep.

Bad seemed to notice Tommy slowly falling asleep and offered him a sympathetic smile.

“Dream,” Bad started. “I think it’s best if I go alone.”

The masked man just shrugged and said, “do what you want.”

Bad said his goodbyes to Tommy and turned heel to leave. The winged boy watched the demon walk away, his red and black hoodie catching in the light breeze as a northern chill swept across the land briefly. Tommy shivered. He didn’t exactly want to be left alone with Dream, but he could tell that Bad was struggling to keep it together around the tyrant. Honestly? He didn’t blame him. 

Tommy watched as Bad disappeared through the nether portal with a glazed over expression. He wanted to try sleeping with “Chirp” playing in the background, but upon glancing at the sun, which was still rather high in the sky, it was way too early for him to sleep. 

“Well, any other plans, Dream?” Tommy asked wearily, rubbing his eyes and swaying slightly.

“Can’t say that I have any,” the tyrant responded. 

Tommy hummed in acknowledgement and yawned. He really just wanted to sleep. In fact, standing about in the sun, he could feel himself slipping. Something about feeling tired and being around Dream made him slightly uneasy. He twitched his wings and subconsciously took a step back.

“Can I help you with anything?” Dream asked.

“When have you ever wanted to help me?” Tommy responded in subdued annoyance.

“I always want to help you,” Dream said. “I’m your friend.”

“Whatever.”

Tommy was too tired to fight and honestly, he didn’t care enough at this point in time.

“You’ve been pretty tired lately. Is everything okay?” The tyrant asked with the audacity to sound concerned.

The boy huffed and said, “that’s a bit of a stupid question, isn’t it?”

Dream just glared at him and Tommy could feel his annoyance through the mask. He didn’t really care though. He didn’t have the capacity to care about much of everything. Here he was, in the middle of nowhere with no one but a psychopath for company. Tommy was pretty sure that even a ghost would keep better company.

“Alright, Tommy. Here’s the deal,” Dream said and Tommy felt his apprehension build. “I’m going to cut my visit short and allow you to get some sleep because you clearly need it.”

“Don’t pretend like you care.”

“I do care.”

It was a lot less convincing when Dream said he cared versus when Bad said he cared. Dream made it abundantly obvious just a couple months ago that he didn’t care about anyone. He didn’t even really care about the discs. He just cared about power. Tommy felt great hatred for this man and everything he stood for.

Just to emphasize his point, Dream laid a hand on Tommy’s shoulder and affirmed, “I really do care.”

“Whatever,” Tommy said dismissively. “Go do what you want, I’m going to head off to bed.”

“Good,” Dream praised.

His approval almost made Tommy want to turn around and do the complete opposite, but he was practically falling asleep where he stood. The winged boy didn’t say another word as he walked off to his tent and crouched behind it. He wasn’t really going to sleep until he was sure that Dream had left.

The sun was still disturbingly high in the sky, but Tommy assumed that it would be sunset in a few hours. If he had any say about it, he would not go to sleep until it was at least dark out. If he had any say about it, he wouldn’t sleep at all. However, Tommy did not have a choice. He would fall asleep either on his own accord or pass out sometime in the night. Without any armor, Tommy wasn’t sure he could survive an attack from one of the various mobs around here.

Eventually, Dream got bored of inspecting Logstedshire and approached the nether portal. Within a few moments, he was gone and Tommy was officially alone. This was neither a comfort or a fear. It was simply his most familiar state of being as of this week.

Sighing in pure exhaustion, Tommy enters his little tent and finds “Chirp” laying on the jukebox. A more possessive side of him notes how close he was to losing the disc. If Dream had entered his tent, he would have lost both the disc and the jukebox.

However, he was much too tired to care as he slipped the disc in the music slot and crashed onto his bed, back and wings facing the ceiling. The sun was entirely too bright, but he simply put the pillow over his head and listened to the first few notes play.

Tommy felt a bit apprehensive. The last time he had laid down to sleep, he had seriously considered killing Dream. He was terrified that was going to happen again.

Despite his fears, Tommy slowly drifted off to sleep, soothed by the sounds of “Chirp” playing on repeat. The sun felt warm on his wings and it wasn't long before he was completely lost to the world.

No intrusive thoughts plagued him that night. He didn’t dream either, but frankly he was okay with that. He just slept while “Chirp” filled the silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took quite a while and I don't want it be so long before I update next, but oh boy was this chapter a doozie. Mostly because I have no clue how to write sleep deprivation. Not even slightly. But! I did my best and I also hope that I got Bad's character right. I have had very few interactions with him.
> 
> As usual, violet_sunflowers betaed this chapter and indulged my 8k-wordiness. I am so sorry. Anyways, next chapter will hopefully be out before 7 days, but we will have to see... 14 days is my absolute limit though.
> 
> I love the comments and you all are amazing human beings. Don't forget to sleep (unlike Tommy) and drink that H2O! <3
> 
> (Also, sorry for no Techno or Phil yet. This fic is running away from me, but I promise they will be in a majority of this fic. My storyboard is so long...)


	5. The Nether

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream was not happy that Tommy received an ender chest. Tommy must either craft his own ender chest or watch his gift be burned, but Tommy will not let that happen. However, a couple of familiar faces makes this quest much more complicated than he first anticipated...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! Wow, 9k words. Okay. I said these would get shorter, but this fic is a problem child that keeps running off on its own. Oh well, I love it so I'll let it do whatever it wants.
> 
> Tommy is approaching the quarter mark for his time in exile and he's still going quite strong. But we all know it ends. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter! It didn't give me near as much trouble as the previous, but it still caused me a bit of grief. Specifically the ending, but I think I've reached a point where I am happy. Please enjoy <3

Stretching out his golden wings in the morning sun, Tommy wondered if this was when things would start turning around. His feathers were in excellent shape. Their usual sheen reflecting the sun brightly. His lack of primaries brought forth a twinge of loss, but he determinedly pushed it back with a wave of optimism. They’d be back.

Bad had not returned, much to Tommy’s chagrin, but Ghostbur, on the other hand, had become a regular at Logstedshire. He loved his brother, but he would be lying if he said that he didn’t wish for his regular to be Quackity or Fundy or anyone actually living. He carefully omitted Tubbo from the list with a pang of his heart.

Ghostbur had been great though! He had made a habit of bringing several different items when he visited. He began carrying around Wilbur’s old guitar, pretending like he knew how to play as he plucked a few strings at random. The instrument was horribly out of tune and a couple of the strings were snapped, but Ghostbur didn’t mind. Tommy told his brother to talk to Fundy about replacing the strings and tuning it. Today, he would see if there was any improvement.

Besides the guitar, his brother had been giving him spare clothes and food. Ghostbur suggested bringing his old and torn-up clothes to Niki so they could be sewed and reused, but Tommy wasted no time in tossing them into a fire. He was quickly learning to let go of things.

As a result, Tommy was looking sharper and better than ever. The bags under his eyes were gone and he had a new pep in his step.

This was mostly because Dream hadn’t visited in almost two days. Thus, Tommy was able to slowly gather items and make progress rather than languish like some starving kid on a deserted island. Tommy was a survivor! He did not need Dream. In fact, he was much happier without him.

Tommy was slightly hurt that no one had visited him since Bad left, but he had to assume that this was because of political reasons and not personal preference. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to ask Ghostbur how they were. The wound was still a bit too fresh.

Sighing, Tommy withdrew his To-Do list from his pocket and went through to see what needed to be done next. Most of his primary survival objectives were more or less completed except for “find a girlfriend” but honestly that objective was made to fail. He felt good about himself but a twinge of anxiety still nagged at the back of his mind, making his wings twitch subconsciously.

Dream hadn’t left for no reason. He left with an ultimatum. Tommy was to either craft his own ender chest or allow Ranboo’s gifted ender chest to be burned. The tyrant proclaimed himself to be generous in allowing Tommy to keep “Chirp” and to even have an ender chest be an option, but Tommy was no fool. This was just another power play.

Frankly, he was more than a bit nervous about going into the nether. The ash, soot, and constant sulfuric scent brought back memories that Tommy would rather not face.

He waited and waited for a few days, begging Ghostbur to retrieve blaze powder for him, but he intrinsically knew that no one would help him. No one was coming. Tommy was tired of waiting and he didn’t want to see anything of true significance get burned. Ender pearls and anything end-related was important to Ranboo. Just because Tommy had to lose his wings didn’t mean that Ranboo had to lose his pearls

Tommy brought out a quill and wrote down, “Create Ender Chest” in his messy scrawl. He had only one day left before Dream would make good on his promise.

Steeling and hyping himself up, Tommy hopped to his feet and shook out his wings. With determined steps, he began to walk to the nether portal.

His fear and anxiety increased with every step. He pushed it back.

He thought of Dream, exiting the portal with ash staining his clothes. He thought of Wilbur, crazed and wild as he rigged the festival. He thought of Tubbo, his second life lost to a world of color and ash. He thought of Techno, his hands stained with-

He refused to think of Techno.

Now at the mouth of the portal, Tommy shifted his feet against the dead grass surrounding it. He watched as black ash flaked off the obsidian, drifting in the light wind alongside purple particles. Tommy could feel the heat radiating off the portal boundary. Still, he shivered. The world looked distorted through the dimensional wall and Tommy already felt nauseated. 

He briefly considered going back, his wings twitching at the thought, but he already swore that he would do this. 

It was now or never.

Taking a deep breath, Tommy stepped into the portal and felt the black ash fall into his hair and feathers. The world began to swim before him and he could feel bile rising in his throat. He choked it back and placed his hands on his knees to steady himself. Closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, he allowed the portal to consume him.

When Tommy opened his eyes next, he was in a familiar, hellish landscape. It was already too much. He was sent into a relentless coughing fit as the sulfuric ash bombarded his senses. The nearly unbearable heat from the lava sent uncomfortable sensations along his skin. His eyes stung from the polluted air and he could feel tears welling up in response. 

It had been a long time since Tommy went into the nether and each time he went back, he was reminded of why he avoided it. He felt nauseated but forced himself out of the portal, blindly stumbling onto the netherrack. The dust flaking off of the rock clung to the white soles of his trainers.

Tommy thought he heard the low chiming sound of teleportation, but he was blind and overwhelmed by everything the nether embodied. Heaving in unsteady, ash-filled breaths, Tommy began to adjust to the nether’s impossibly harsh climate. He released his hands from his knees and stood up straight, panting slightly. His wings, which were doing great in the overworld, became ashen and dull.

Looking away from them, he examined the landscape before him. Tommy could see the main nether hub in the distance, blackstone standing out starkly against the red. Mountains of netherrack, stalactites of glowstone, and a vast sea of molten lava stood before him. He very nearly felt overwhelmed again as he braced himself against a wall, wings flaring in discomfort. 

He hated the nether.

Tommy shook the ash off of his clothes with a hand, only for it to smudge and stain his hands. He had half a mind to return to the overworld, but he had a goal and he had to see it through. Tommy stepped away from the wall and began to walk in any aimless direction, hoping one of them might bring him to a fortress.

Or at least that was the plan before he walked straight into a chest that he had somehow managed to miss. Tommy tripped over it and landed onto the netherrack roughly, more red dust staining his clothes and wings. He cursed.

The chest was clearly new because it only had a light dusting of ash. Hopping back to his feet, Tommy approached the chest and reached for the clasp. The metal wasn’t very hot yet either. It was definitely new.

Unclasping the lock, Tommy quickly swung open the lid of the chest to find a leather-bound book and a quill with ink. The book was also quite new as the leather wasn't scratched and the pages weren't stained. The word “mail” was carved into the front with hasty markings. The sender must’ve been in a rush because the “L” trailed off as though the writer got distracted or startled.

Tommy smiled softly and opened the page. He knew that they cared. Tommy wondered who it was. A knee-jerk reaction begged for it to be Tubbo, but he knew that the new president hated the nether almost as much as he did. Tommy thought that it was probably Bad, but upon inspecting the handwriting, it was not penmanship he had seen before.

The letters were perfectly aligned and almost looked as though they were printed. There were no random blots of ink, just perfect and steady lines. He racked his brain to try and figure out who it could have been. 

Wilbur’s handwriting was always a bit messy as though he was struggling to get out all the words he wanted to write. Tommy didn’t even know if Ghostbur could hold a quill. Tubbo’s handwriting almost resembled this neat form, but he often left blots of ink between words as he tried to figure out what to say next. Phil usually wrote in cursive, not stationary. Quackity’s writing was surprisingly neat, but when he wrote, he wrote elegant paragraphs that would go on for several lines before skipping to the next.

Tommy had never seen this writing before. Still, he stopped trying to guess and simply turned the page to begin reading the actual contents.

“Tommy,

Hey, how are you doing? That’s probably a bit of a stupid question.  
I hope you can find a way back home soon. It’s pretty boring without you here.  
I have a bit of a joke for you…  
What do you call a bad idea?  
Letting a green man have total control-”

Tommy allowed a bit of a laugh to escape him. His smile grew fond.

“I thought it was pretty funny.  
Anyways, write in the following pages to reply.  
Talk to you soon,

-Ranboo”

The winged boy smiled as he thought about the implications of this letter. This implied that Tommy still had allies in L’Manberg and even if they were afraid to visit, they still cared. Maybe through this correspondence with Ranboo, he could find a way to get back into his home. Ranboo himself admitted to wanting him back. 

Hope and apprehension made his hands shaky as he turned the page and wrote a reply in very rough scrawl.

“Hello, Ranboo!”

He immediately blotted ink over the exclamation mark and replaced it with a comma. He didn’t want to seem too eager. After all, he was doing just fine and he wanted to portray himself as strong! No one wants a beggar.

Looking at the scratched-out words, he ended up tearing the page out of the spine and moving on to the next. Tommy may want to appear nonchalant, but that didn’t mean he had to be sloppy. A bit of anxiety crept up as he realized that Ranboo would probably see the tear marks and wonder why he ripped it out. Quietly cursing himself, he took a deep breath and just started writing.

“Hello, Ranboo,

Thank you for the letter, it was very nice.  
Thank you for the ender chest as well. It’s made my life easier, but I am in the nether to craft another for undisclosed reasons. I’d like to return your ender chest someday. Can we meet up?

-Tommy”

The winged boy shook his head. This wouldn’t do either. “Undisclosed”? What kind of posh language was that? What if Ranboo took it as condescending and never responded? No, Tommy decided as he tore out this page. He would just have to start again.

Two torn-out pages began to look like desperation and Tommy scrambled to come up with an excuse. With a bit of a frustrated shout, he closed the book and put it back in the chest. This was a problem for another day. 

At his shout, however, he heard some rocks cascading down a ledge over his portal. He could have sworn that he heard the sound of teleportation a bit ago as well. Someone was here.

After hurling the torn pages into the lava, Tommy drew his iron sword, ready to face whoever was watching him. A more paranoid side of him whispered that it was Dream. That the letter was Dream. That it was all Dream’s doing in order to shake Tommy up. The winged boy growled and flared his wings behind him.

“Who’s there?!” Tommy demanded. 

Only a strange static responded and Tommy felt even more on edge. The horrible buzzing was growing in intensity and he could feel it vibrating off every surface in the netherrack alcove.

“If this is Dream,” Tommy started with a snarl. “Then you can fuck off! I have one more day, you dickhead!”

Growing impatient with only the static as an answer, Tommy wedged his sword into the cliff and thrust his wings in order to gain some ground on the cliff edge. Without any primaries, however, he had no real force and had to dislodge his sword then stab the cliffside repeatedly to scramble up to the top. It was embarrassing and degrading, but he had more pride than to let Dream watch him as though he were in a fishbowl. 

When he reached the top, however, there was no conceding man in a green cloak. Instead, there was a teenager about his age with skin cleaved in half between black and white. His eyes shone red and green respectively and the static was suddenly making sense.

“Ranboo?” Tommy asked, immediately sheathing his sword.

“Ah, hello,” Ranboo said awkwardly, the static buzzing quickly dying down and drowning into the ambiance of the nether. “You uh- weren’t supposed to see me.”

The winged boy scoffed on instinct, “so do you want me to leave then?”

“No, no, no,” the enderman hybrid backpedaled. “It’s fine. We can hang out. I just wasn’t expecting you here this early.”

“Yes, well, Dream hasn’t exactly been around recently so I have a lot more spare time.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“It’s probably the best thing to happen in all of these past however long it’s been,” Tommy admitted. “How long has it been?”

Ranboo looked away from Tommy with a thoughtful expression. The winged boy almost felt hurt. Tommy had saved Ranboo from all blame and he couldn’t even bother remembering how long he’s been gone.

“Probably almost two weeks by now,” Ranboo responded.

“Two weeks,” Tommy repeated unbelieving.

His exile simultaneously felt as though it had simultaneously been two years and two days. He was always busy and always working, but there was no one there to share it with. Ghostbur didn’t count. Neither did Dream. Especially not Dream.

“Well,” Tommy said. “I got your letter.”

“I saw that,” Ranboo responded. 

There was a beat of awkward shuffling in which neither boy knew exactly what to say. There was so much. Ranboo was an accomplice in the crime that led to Tommy’s exile. Tommy refused to mention the other teen’s involvement, dooming himself to a life of solitude. Ranboo was given a clean start with guilt on his conscience while Tommy was forced to relive the same trauma over and over again. The winged boy was really more of a ghost than a living being.

“I’m sorry,” Ranboo blurted out after a moment.

“Sorry?” Tommy questioned.

“Yeah, I haven’t been by to see you,” said Ranboo awkwardly. “And it took me two weeks to send a letter.”

Tommy huffed a laugh and said, “yes, well. That’s more than most people have done.”

The atmosphere was tense and Tommy could tell that Ranboo was caught between another apology or moving on from the conversation. The static slowly began again and Tommy rubbed at an ear to try and get rid of it.

“Ranboo, do you think you could stop with that?” Tommy asked with only slight annoyance.

The enderman hybrid looked at him for a brief moment, trying to figure out what he was talking about.

“The static?” Tommy elaborated.

“Oh!” Ranboo exclaimed. “Sorry, I don’t even realize I’m doing it.”

Slowly, the static died down once more before becoming completely inaudible. Ranboo looked sheepish. Every time he was nervous or tense, that odd buzzing would surround him. This was the natural defense of enderman, but to most people in L’Manberg, it was more of a nuisance than anything. 

Tommy understood Ranboo’s strife, however. Being a hybrid in a non-hybrid world was difficult on a good day. L’Manberg in general was more tolerant to hybrids given the fact that President Soot was an avian, but since Schlatt’s administration and Wilbur’s snap, hybrids have gotten a bad reputation.

“So,” Ranboo began. “What are your plans today?”

“Right! I need to find a fortress and get blaze powder,’ Tommy responded.

“What would you need blaze powder for?” Ranboo’s mismatched eyes quirked in confusion.

“Oh, you know,” Tommy said vaguely, gesturing at nothing with his hands. “Decoration?”

Tommy absolutely did not want Ranboo to know the real reason why he was getting blaze powder. He didn’t want to seem ungrateful for the gift! He might end up driving away the only person trying to establish a communication line. Why did Dream have to make things more difficult? Wasn’t blowing his usual items enough?

He hoped and prayed to the Primes above that Ranboo would at least go along with it.

The hybrid hummed thoughtfully and said, “I didn’t know you could decorate with blaze powder.”

“Yeah! Well, it’s sort of a new thing I’m trying.” The winged boy sighed in relief.

“Cool! How much do you need?”

“Just one rod oughta do it,” Tommy replied. “I need to make sure it works before I go risking my neck for any more.”

“Makes sense.”

They shuffled around a bit more before Tommy asked, “do you know where the fortress is?”

“No, I can’t say I’ve ever been,” Ranboo replied.

“What?!” Tommy exclaimed. “Then how did you make the ender chest?”

Ranboo simply gestured to himself and the winged boy fluttered his wings in embarrassment. Of course, Ranboo had ender eyes. He was half enderman. All endermen were naturally equipped with ender pearls, for teleportation, and ender eyes, for finding their way home. Unfortunately, Ranboo had no use for ender eyes and so he used them to craft various objects. This being said, he had a great attachment to his eyes and pearls as they were the only things that linked him to his heritage.

“Right,” Tommy responded awkwardly.

“Don’t worry about it.” Ranboo waved a hand dismissively. “I think Fundy might know where the portal is.”

Tommy watched with envy as the hybrid pulled back the sleeve of his coat to reveal a communicator. Tommy had gotten his taken away shortly before exile while in jail, awaiting trial. Ranboo at least had the decency to shoot him a sympathetic glance before returning his attention to the screen before him.

He tore his eyes away from the easy communication with the outside world and forced himself to look elsewhere. He was uncomfortably warm. He knew that once he got back from the nether, his skin would likely be bright red and sunburnt. Tommy had always hated the nether.

The unbearable heat aside, it was chock full of memories that he would rather avoid. The nether was full of cliffs that would fall away before your feet into a mile-long drop. He couldn’t count how many times he’s been caught in a naturally occurring lava trap. The natives were none too friendly and reminded Tommy a bit too much of Techno. Not to mention the fact that every other species was hostile in the nether.

“Okay,” Ranboo said, cutting through his thoughts. “Fundy said he would meet us here in about an hour.”

“Couldn’t we meet him at the nether hub?” Tommy asked.

“I-” Ranboo started. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“What?! Why not?”

The enderman hybrid went all stiff and the static began to fill the ambiance once more. 

“Alright, alright,” Tommy said. He was disappointed, but it hardly mattered if he was causing Ranboo discomfort. “It’s fine. I won’t push it.”

At once Ranboo visibly sighed a breath of relief and the air returned to normal. Tommy turned around, with his back to the hybrid, and walked over to the cliff’s edge. Sitting on the red stone, he let his feet dangle over the edge. The heat and sulfuric scent were overpowering, but he was slowly getting used to it. The lava bubbled and popped beneath him. He felt his skin twinge as he recalled the feeling of being burnt.

The winged boy was trying to catch any glimpse of his old home. He was denied the nether hub so he was hoping to find something in a mirage. Anything that reminded him of the familiar redwood landscape would be like pure ecstasy. He missed the sparrows and the wild chickens that were native to the forest neighboring L’Manburg. He missed the walls, though they would never be back. They turned into an uncomfortable reminder of Wilbur instead of a symbol for all L’Manburg stood for.

He missed his country. He missed meaning something to his country. He was a founder, but he supposed that mattered very little when confronted with someone like Dream. Tommy’s burning hatred for the man was slowly cooling into an indifference. After all, it’s been two weeks and nothing especially terrible has happened. Just crippling loneliness and lack of purpose slowly driving him mad. He suddenly became aware of the To-Do list in his pocket. Tommy did have a purpose, even if it was small and self-assigned.

“Hey, Tommy?” Ranboo called out a bit nervously.

The boy twisted around to face Ranboo once more before saying, “yeah? What’s up?”

The enderman hybrid hesitated before coming up to sit next to Tommy on the cliff’s edge. White and black hands wrung together in his peripheral as he turned his head to face back out into the lava.

“Are you okay, Ranboo?” Tommy leaned back his hands, wingtips resting against the dusty red stone. They would be a pain to clean later.

The hybrid looked nervous as he shifted his gaze from Tommy’s soot and dust-stained feathers to the sea of lava that laid out before them. A sense of dread filled Tommy’s being as he realized the inevitable question that would arise. The only thing anyone seemed to notice was his wings. He wasn’t super eager to admit that his wings were his problem either. Inwardly, he knew that his alleged fall had caused his primaries to be clipped, but he still couldn’t believe that he let that happen. 

Anybody was only ever concerned about his wings. Tommy sighed irritably.

“My wings are fine, Ranboo,” Tommy affirmed in a tired voice.

“Are you sure?” the hybrid asked nervously. “They look different and I noticed you didn’t fly up here-”

“Yeah, well, I’m not supposed to fly in the nether,” Tommy lied. “The wind currents are too turbulent for safe flight. I’m not too eager to be burned.”

That in itself was only a half-lie. Phil always warned his boys about flying in the nether because the air currents naturally shifted up to the ceiling due to the heat, but random patches of dead winds were common, causing whoever decided to fly to plummet into the molten rock. Tommy never really listened until he encountered a patch of turbulence and fell into a lava pool. Fortunately, he had drunk a fire resistance potion as per Phil’s behest. 

Phil had been furious and Wilbur was distraught upon seeing Tommy struggling against the molten current. They were barely able to pull him out before the potion ran out and Tommy resolved to never go to the nether again. Of course, this was impossible to avoid, but during the time that Tommy lived in L’Manberg, he made it a point to avoid the hellish place. 

The thought of Phil made Tommy simultaneously long for his father’s presence and feel intense anger that he hadn’t even attempted to visit. He was probably still mourning the son that he killed. Too busy to worry about Tommy. Like always.

Tommy shook his head and sighed. Ranboo seemed to buy his excuse because he didn’t mention it again. If one more person asked about his wings, he might lose it. It’s hard enough to come to terms with his loss of flight but it’s even harder to talk about it and admit his own stupidity. Tommy understood they were just trying to help, but they were only making it worse.

Tommy was glad Ranboo was choosing to stay silent until he broke it and said, “Hey, Tommy. I know I don’t understand, but I could get Phil if you need to talk to someone about it.”

“I already told you that they are fine!” Tommy asserted, spreading them out to demonstrate. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with them.”

The hybrid looked at the missing primaries and then back to Tommy. Holding a stare with an enderman was always intimidating but Tommy held it in pure defiance.

“They just look different and I’m worried,” Ranboo said.

Tommy scoffed and said, “yeah, well, I guess you just don’t remember them.”

Ranboo looked stricken and static began to fill the air once more. Tommy waited for the hybrid to fight back. He waited for some reason to fight. Any reason to argue. He was sick of people mentioning his wings and only even being concerned about them, but not once asking how Tommy was doing in exile. They all thought he was weak.

“I was just-” Ranboo was cut off.

“Just what?!” Tommy challenged. “Just about to say how useless I am?! How weak I am?!”

“No! I-”

“Shut it!” The winged boy twisted around to face Ranboo, ready to fight. 

Tommy clenched his fists and gritted his teeth, flaring out his massive wings behind him. The enderman hybrid shrunk back with wide eyes. With the amber glow of the lava below, Tommy’s golden wings looked to be made of fire with their golden sheen brightly burning behind him. He was underweight and in no shape to fight, but his wings, even with the missing feathers, were intimidating.

The static grew louder and louder, pounding in Tommy’s head. Ranboo stared at the winged boy with fear in his green and red eyes. Tommy looked in them and saw his reflection. Instantly, he deflated and folded his wings tightly behind him, burning his face in his hands.

“I’m sorry, Ranboo,” Tommy muttered in defeat.

He was doing so well. He hadn’t had any flashes of rage in days! Since he started sleeping again and since Dream stayed away, Tommy had been doing well. Really, he had. But now he was back to square one.

Maybe he really did deserve to be alone.

“It’s alright,” Ranboo said after a minute, composing himself once more. “You’re stressed.”

“I was a prick,” Tommy muttered.

“So about normal!” the hybrid laughed. Tommy joined in weakly. He didn’t deserve Ranboo.

“That’s just rude, man.”

“Just telling it like it is.”

Tommy hummed and leaned back on his hands, facing out into the lava. He wished he was less of a jerk sometimes. He honestly didn’t think he could help it, but these sudden bursts of rage aren’t him. Tommy does practical jokes, slight griefing, a little murder, and maybe a bit of drug dealing on the side. He did not seriously threaten his friends, fly into rages, or swing axes into innocent trees. 

“I get it, you know?” Ranboo said after a while.

“You what?” Tommy seriously doubted that Ranboo could possibly understand the pain of losing his home and his wings all in the same night.

“I mean, not the wing thing,” Ranboo clarified. “But the ‘people constantly bringing up uncomfortable topics’ thing. It gets annoying.”

Tommy looked back over at the hybrid, who was also leaning back and looking over the molten sea. 

“I-” Ranboo began hesitantly. “I have amnesia. Everyone knows that but it’s all anyone talks about. I’m the ‘Memory Boy’.”

“Sorry about the jokes,” Tommy began. He didn’t remember if he started the jokes involving Ranboo, but he certainly took part in it. Ranboo wimpy waved him off though.

“The jokes don't bother me,” Ranboo affirmed. “It’s more the constant veil of concern under them that bothers me. I’m not dying. I don’t need pity, but that’s all people offer. I wish it were something normal rather than something to sympathize with.”

Tommy huffed a laugh and said, “yeah, I get that.”

“Jokes are just easier to deal with,” Ranboo shrugged. “So, I’m sorry about mentioning your wings. I should have thought about it.”

“No, you’re good, man. Bad was the same way and I-” Tommy trailed off.

“Was a bit of a prick?” supplied Ranboo with a mischievous smile.

“A bit, yeah.”

“These things aren’t fun.”

“No, they are not.”

A moment passed before Ranboo said, “all that aside, I’m here for you. I know I haven’t been, but I should’ve been.”

True to his word, Ranboo didn’t mention Tommy’s wings again. They talked for about thirty minutes, not really saying much of great importance. Tommy bragged about how many mobs he managed to kill on his own while Ranboo just listened. He didn’t bring up L’Manberg either, something Tommy was very grateful for. Perhaps Ranboo could become a great ally during these trying times? 

Ironic how the only one to remember him was the one with amnesia.

After a while of comfortable, aimless conversation, they could hear the sound of an older man calling out, “Ranboo! Tommy! Where are you guys?”

At once, Ranboo jumped up and leaned over the alcove’s edge, waving to Fundy before jumping down to join him. Tommy got up much slower, growing almost addicted to the lava’s constant warmth. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to see Fundy. They founded L’Manberg together and he was technically his relative, but they never really got along.

Sure, he might’ve vouched for Tommy up on the obsidian walls a couple of weeks ago, but he probably only did it because Quackity was on board. Quackity didn’t like Tubbo’s leadership and so he probably went along with Tommy for a chance to undermine the president. Or he did it for pity. Tommy wasn’t sure which was worse.

Eventually, though, Tommy hopped down, wings beating to slow his fall.

“Hey, Fundy,” Tommy said quietly.

“Tommy!” the fox man replied earnestly. “How’ve you been?”

The boy in question huffed a small laugh and said, “exiled.”

“Right. How’s that been?” Fundy asked awkwardly.

Tommy didn’t dignify him with an answer and just gave him a deadpanned look. Fundy looked good these days. Much better than he did in Pogtopia or during Schlatt’s Administration. His ginger coat, even though it had a light dusting of ash, carried an almost glossy sheen and his brown eyes were bright. During most of the time that Tommy had seen him, Fundy always looked dull and ragged. Not unlike how Tommy had looked in the past few days. He felt jealous.

“Fundy, how about that nether fortress?” Ranboo prompted, breaking the awkward silence that had taken hold.

“Oh yeah, follow me,” Fundy said while scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

Tommy didn’t do anything to make the situation less awkward. He felt bitter that his own family was doing well, while he was stuck with the company of a ghost and a tyrant. Just picking up whatever scraps they offer him like a pitiful dog. Fundy was the true canine in the family! He should be the one that has to beg just for the basic survival necessities.

The winged boy sighed and ruffled his wings as he realized how insensitive and frankly racist he was being. Hybrids had to stick together.

A bitter voice told him that they were hardly sticking for him. Tommy pushed it back.

“Sorry I haven’t been by to visit, Tommy,” Fundy said while flattening himself against a narrow ledge.

Tommy rolled his eyes and took a running jump over the valley. He heard Ranboo’s cry of “be careful!”, but ignored it as he spread his broad wings and let the thermal current carry him over to the other side. He had limited control over his trajectory, but he had enough experience with gliding in the nether that he knew he would be fine. Tommy couldn’t exactly fight the current if it went south or changed his altitude or speed, but he didn’t care.

Feeling the hot wind under his wings, he almost felt normal. Tommy couldn’t perform any airborne tricks or go over the broader sea like he used to, but this was as close to flying as he’d been in weeks. It was the closest he’d get to flying for a couple of months. 

All too soon, the thermal died under him and he landed back onto the netherrack with a heavy thud. The other two cleared the ledge a couple of minutes after him, looking exceptionally angry and concerned

“Tommy, that was wholly unnecessary,” Fundy chided, fur bristled. “You need to be more careful! What would Phil have said?”

“Oh, don’t you dare pretend to lecture me, Fundy!” Tommy retorted while folding his wings back. “Why should I care about what Phil would say anyway?!”

“I don’t know, maybe because he’s your dad?” the fox countered.

Tommy laughed as he said, “Phil hasn’t been my dad in a decade.”

“Still! He cares about you,” Fundy said. “Just because you’re on bad terms right now doesn’t give you an excuse to be reckless!”

“Don’t pretend like you’ve never acted out because of family troubles, Fundy,” Tommy countered. “Besides, this wasn’t even dangerous! I’ve been flying in the nether long enough to know what’s stupid and what’s safe.”

At this point, Ranboo cut in and said, “I’m with Fundy on this, Tommy. Especially now, you need to be more careful.”

“I thought you said you understood!” Tommy shouted with his wings flaring on instinct.

“I do, but I don’t understand taking unnecessary risks.”

“You’re just a hypocrite.”

“I am just concerned!”

“What did we just talk about?!”

Fundy cut in once more and said, “look, let’s just move on. We have a long way to go and fighting won’t help. Tommy, please try to limit your flying out here. It’s dangerous.”

“Fine, whatever,” Tommy replied. 

Ranboo looked uncomfortable and clearly wanted to interject, but Tommy gave him a withering look. Static began to fill the air and that caused Fundy’s attention to be solely on the enderman hybrid, rubbing his sensitive ears as the high-pitched ring was amplified. 

“Something you want to say, Ranboo?” Fundy asked in a slightly strained voice.

The hybrid jumped slightly and the static immediately died down, allowing Fundy to relax once more. 

“I don’t think Tommy should be flying out here at all,” Ranboo asserted, avoiding Tommy’s smoldering blue eyes.

Fundy sighed and said, “yeah, I agree, but we both know he’s not going to listen.”

“This is different.”

Tommy cut in and said, “nope! Everything is fine!”

“It’s not,” Ranboo said. “If you don’t promise to be careful then I’ll tell Fundy.”

Fundy has his ears pinned in frustration as he said, “tell me what?”

The enderman hybrid gave Tommy a meaningful look. He supposed that it was merciful to not tell the fox right away, but Tommy was furious. Ranboo said he understood! They had a heart to heart and everything, but this is what Tommy gets in return. Nothing but pity. They all thought he was weak.

“Nothing,” Tommy said. “It won’t be a problem. Just Ranboo being paranoid.”

“Tommy,” Ranboo warned.

The winged boy sighed and conceded, “fine. I won’t do it again.”

Fundy looked exceedingly frustrated but ultimately just sighed and shrugged before motioning for them to follow. Tommy was sure to stay behind Fundy and keep his wings closely folded against him. He didn’t expect Ranboo to be a snitch, but it served to concrete a theme that Tommy had been recognizing. He never has a choice. 

The trio didn’t talk much as they hiked through the wasteland. There wasn’t much to be said. Fundy tried to talk about L’Manberg and update Tommy, but he didn’t want to hear it. Instead, they opted to mention the weather and how much they all hated the nether. It was a dull conversation, but it cleared the air a bit so they were only slightly tense. Tommy was still angry with Ranboo but ultimately resigned himself to the fact that everyone was just going to be the same.

At least he had Ghostbur’s guitar debut to look forward to.

“Hey, Fundy,” Tommy said, initiating the conversation for the first time this trip.

The fox flicked an ear towards him and hummed.

“Did Ghostbur talk to you about Wilbur’s old guitar?”

“Oh yeah,” Fundy said. “The strings all needed to be replaced and I’d never heard it so out of tune, but we fixed it.”

“Did he play anything?”

Fundy scratched the back of his neck once more and said, “unfortunately.”

Tommy laughed slightly and smirked. With just a normal hearing range, Ghostbur’s ballads on an untuned guitar were rough enough, but with Fundy’s hypersensitive hearing, he could only imagine the pain. Tommy hoped that Ghostbur retained just a tiny bit of Wilbur’s ability, but wasn’t super hopeful. He felt a pang of grief as he thought of the man his brother used to be and his simile weakened.

Ranboo tilted his head as he joined in, “I thought it sounded decent.”

“Yeah, but it was nothing like what Wilbur used to play,” Fundy said with a sad reminiscence. “You weren’t around, but back in the Revolutionary War, Wilbur could play guitar all night and you’d never get sick of it.”

“He’d always open with the same song too,” Tommy added.

“The national anthem,” Tommy and Fundy said at the same time with a fond laugh.

“I don’t think we could ever forget it,” the fox said. “You’ve heard it, right, Ranboo?”

“I think I might’ve heard him sing it once or twice.”

Fundy hummed and said, “I’ll have to play it for you sometime. I’m not super great at guitar, but I can play the anthem on my keyboard with my eyes closed.”

The fox and the enderman continued to talk about all the things they would do back in L’Manberg and Tommy forced himself to concentrate on other things. He hated not being able to join in. However, he knew that if he was back in L’Manberg, he probably wouldn’t have attending Fundy’s private concert. It reminded him too much of Wilbur. Tommy was so distracted these past couple of weeks that it’s helped him move on from his grief. Only slightly. He still missed his brother with every fiber of his being, but he had other things to worry about.

It wasn’t long before all three men approached a tunnel through a netherrack plateau. Ranboo and Fundy climbed in with little hesitation, but Tommy halted at the mouth of the cave. His wings fluttered nervously and every instinct was telling him to find another way.

“Is there another way we can go?” Tommy asked with a slight quiver in his voice. 

Fundy stopped and looked back with a question evident on his face.

“I mean, yeah, but it’d take at least another two hours,” the fox replied.

“Right,” Tommy said as he pushed back his building anxiety.

“Is there a reason why you don’t want to go through here?”

“No, no,” Tommy said. “I’m fine.”

Fundy shrugged and continued to walk through the shortcut while Ranboo waited at the entrance. The enderman hybrid smiled in encouragement and Tommy forced himself onwards. Stepping into the cave, he almost immediately felt a sense of vertigo as he was almost entirely enclosed. He pretended he did not feel nauseous and forced himself to keep his breathing steady.

As they continued down the cave, Tommy visibly jumped every time he brushed against a wall, but he kept steady by focusing on the bright torchlight that Fundy held in front of them. He had to exercise great mental effort to stay in the present and convince himself that he was not in the Control Room. This area was not rigged with TNT. He was not under a piston. He did not hear Techno and Wilbur’s cruel laugh. He was not in prison. He was not in prison. He was not in prison. He was not in prison.

But every time he repeated that last statement, the less he believed it. Tommy wasn’t able to go home so was this really any different from prison?

Finally, they reached the end of the tunnel and Tommy raced to the exit, tearing past Fundy and racing through red lichen. He allowed himself to catch his breath while waiting for the other two to exit the cavern. 

“In a bit of a hurry, are we?” Fundy commented as he ducked under the lichen that Tommy disturbed.

“Not a big fan of tight spaces,” Tommy admitted while ruffling his feathers and folding his wings tight once more. “Never have been.”

“Makes sense,” Fundy said lightly. “Are you two ready to continue?”

Ranboo nodded, the white half of his body streaked gray with ash. Tommy gave a thumbs up though he was still getting his breathing under control.

“Alright, we’re almost there, but first we have to cross this jungle area,” Fundy said. “The easiest way to do so is to cross the canopies.”

Tommy felt relieved. He much preferred to be in an open area like the wastelands. The crimson forests were pretty but far too dense and crowded. Small sparks of embers crackled down from the trees above and landed on his exposed skin, sizzling slightly. Tommy hissed as the forest rained embers.

Fundy held out an orange potion to Tommy. Orange particles already enveloped both the fox and the enderman. They already drank a fire resistance potion. Uncorking the bottle, Tommy downed to liquid in one go and felt his whole body recoil as it burned its way down his throat. He coughed a couple of times on reflex. Tommy always hated fire resistance, but he knew it was a necessity for going deep in the nether.

The crimson forest was rather pretty when it didn’t hurt. Every tree looked ashen and gray with vibrant red leaves as though they were stuck in autumn. The grass was also red, somehow pushing through harsh and unforgiving ash-fed soil. It still smelled like sulfur and a red powder-coated every surface, but it was a nice change of pace from the netherrack wasteland he was used to.

Ranboo and Fundy had already begun climbing up the trees, branches crumbling away under the pressure. Tommy launched himself towards the nearest tree and climbed up while using his wings to build momentum. He ignored the way his hands began to blister under the trunk’s blazing heat. He couldn’t feel it anyway. 

Now balancing at the top of the canopy, Fundy began to expertly leap from branch to branch. Ranboo tried to do the same, but slipped on the ashy residue on the bark and was forced to teleport, leaving particles floating in the air. Normally, Tommy would just fly above them, but given the state of his wings and the promise he made to Ranboo, he’d have to do it like a normal person.

Still, he spread his wings out for stability and followed them through the canopy. This was taking way longer than Tommy expected, but he grit his teeth and forced himself to continue his short hops from each branch. He could practically feel the thermal current above the trees calling to him and his wings itched to catch it, but if he did, then Fundy would find out about his wings and he would tell Phil.

It was no big deal if Ranboo or Bad knew about his wing situation because they had no reason to tell his dad. Ghostbur wouldn’t tell Phil either because he didn’t see anything as a problem. He didn’t remember why it was a big deal if someone with wings lost their primaries and that was a blessing.

Fundy, on the other hand, was Tommy’s direct relative who had constant access to Phil. The fox knew what a big deal one’s primaries were and would definitely tell Phil the instant he heard about Tommy being clipped. His dad would be furious and he was honestly terrified of what he might do if he found out that Tommy fell and got hurt badly enough that Dream had to clip his wings. Phil was a gentle soul until given a reason to contradict himself and Tommy did not trust him.

This line of thought distracted Tommy long enough that they reached the edge of the canopy. Fundy jumped down and rolled to avoid any fall damage while Tommy instinctually let his wings spread to slow his fall naturally. The fox had just stood back up when Tommy snapped his wings back into a fold. Ranboo teleported next to them and looked exceptionally exhausted.

“Can we just go through the forest next time?” Ranboo pleaded. “I don’t think I’ve ever had to teleport that much at any given point of time.”

“You just need to get good,” Tommy jabbed.

“Don’t even talk! You have wings!” Ranboo retorted.

Fundy crossed his arms and said, “I don’t have wings, but I made it through just fine.”

“Shut up, Fundy,” Ranboo said in defeat. “How much further is the fortress?”

Fundy pointed out to the distance where a massive structure of nether brick and blackstone erupted out of the dead ground. A mirage blurred the building, but the structure was unmistakable. Inside, there were horrible creatures that would drain every ounce of strength from your body and there were beings made entirely of fire. Molten lava seemed to seep through the cracks in the walls and the whole building was dark and stifling hot.

It was Tommy’s absolute least favorite place to be, but he knew he had no choice. Drawing his iron sword with the L’Manberg crest embedded in the hilt, Tommy marched onward with Fundy and Ranboo at his side.

“Tommy, wait,” Fundy said suddenly, making Ranboo and Tommy both turn to look at him. “Before we go in, there’s something I need to ask.”

“What’s up?” Tommy asked warily, wings twitching in their fold. 

He shot a meaningful glance at Ranboo who shrugged. Tommy narrowed his eyes a bit, he was sure they talked about him. What if this was all a ruse to get Tommy alone and execute him? What Fundy changed his mind after his exile and decided life was so much better without Tommy? What if that was why no one visited him?

No, Tommy told himself. That didn’t make sense. Fundy was a fox, but he wasn’t that difficult to read. Their interactions throughout the day seemed genuine enough. Not to mention that Ranboo wasn’t even expecting to see him today. He could be lying, a voice whispered. The voice sounded awfully like Wilbur. Tommy shook his head and kept his face neutral. He would not be like his brother.

“You don’t have to answer,” Fundy began cautiously. “But I was hoping you might since I led to the fortress.”

Tommy sighed and said, “just ask the question, Fundy.”

“I was wondering who’s been hurting you.”

The winged boy balked and flared his wings indignantly before saying in a high pitch, “that’s crazy! How could you possibly think that?!”

Of all the questions for Fundy to ask, this one was somehow the most absurd and the absolutely worst option possible. This just cemented the fact in Tommy’s mind that they all thought he was weak. That he was pathetic. That he- Tommy took a deep breath and kept himself as level-headed as possible.

Fundy just approached the startled winged boy with his palms open in a nonthreatening manner. Tommy felt extremely degraded by this action. He wasn’t some caged animal about to attack anyone who came too close! 

“You’ve just been a bit off all day today,” Fundy said. “Not to mention your wings, the fact you need blaze powder, and that you’re exiled. All these add up.”

“My wi-” Tommy started incredulously before trailing off.

He clenched his teeth and glared at Ranboo. The enderman hybrid must’ve told him something. There’s no way that Fundy knew about his wings without someone telling him. He was way too careful. Ranboo just shook his head rapidly and held his hands out in surrender, a dull static filling the clearing. He was panicking. He definitely told Fundy something. Tommy was betrayed. 

“What about my wings, Fundy?” Tommy asked through gritted teeth.

“Are you going to make me say it?” Fundy challenged.

Tommy stared at the fox with fire dancing in his blue eyes. Fundy was bluffing and Tommy was calling it out.

“Someone clipped them,” Fundy said. 

The winged boy felt his heart drop. He was so careful. He kept them bound, he stayed behind Fundy this entire time, Ranboo swore to be quiet-

“I noticed when we left the tunnel. This would also-”

“No!” Tommy exclaimed. “You’re wrong! My wings are fine!”

Tommy didn’t need another reason to be seen as weak. First, he couldn’t defend himself against Dream before the exile. Second, he didn’t even try to run away while following Dream to Logstedshire. Third, he somehow managed to hurt himself so bad that his wings needed to be clipped. Fourth- Well, the list kept going on. 

“Tommy, it’s okay,” Fundy said. “I just want to know who did it.”

“No one did anything! It’s all fine!” Tommy insisted.

The winged boy glanced at Ranboo who had been watching this interaction nervously. He wrung his hands together and was plainly avoiding eye contact. Tommy knew it in his bones that Ranboo was lying. He just knew.

“Did you tell him?” Tommy demanded.

“No! I swear I-” Ranboo started

“Did you tell him about my wings?!”

The static grew louder and Tommy snarled. The damn coward was trying to hide. Fundy was cowering away from the noise and Tommy used this as his chance to advance on the hybrid.

“You said you understood!” Tommy shouted. “You said you wouldn’t tell him! You swore!”

The static continued to grow in intensity until all at once, it stopped. Tommy halted in his advance. Where Ranboo was cowering away, purple particles floated in the air. Tommy scoffed. Of course, he ran away.

Fundy took some time to recover, but eventually, he said, “Ranboo didn’t tell me. You’re just not very good at hiding them.”

Tommy huffed a laugh and threw his hands up in the air.

“Well that’s just great!” the winged boy shouted. “Now all of L’Manberg is gonna know how poor ol’ Tommyinnit managed to get his fucking wings clipped.”

“I’m not going to tell anyone,” Fundy said while bristling.

“Oh really?” Tommy challenged. “You won’t tell anyone except, let me guess, Niki? You tell her everything. Tubbo? He’s your president. Phil-” Tommy’s voice cracked but he coughed to cover it up- “Surely you’ll tell Phil! You are much closer to him than I’ve ever been!”

“That’s not fair!” Fundy shouted back. “I just want to know who’s been doing this to you! Someone clipped your wings and someone is probably making you risk your neck for blaze rods.”

“No one is doing this to me,” Tommy said. “I just want some blaze powder.”

“Tommy-”

“No, Fundy, you know what? I know you don’t actually care.”

“Tommy, that’s not true!” Fundy asserted. “We both know who’s orchestrating this and with your help-”

“With my help? Good luck getting that, Fundy. You haven’t been here once,” Tommy said. “It’s been weeks. If you actually cared, you would’ve at least put some effort in.”

“Tommy-”

“Fundy, thank you for showing me the fortress, but I think you should leave,” Tommy demanded with wings flared.

The fox sighed and all tension left his frame, his ginger fur laid flat once more. He had given up, Tommy realized. So why didn’t he feel like he won?

“If you want me to leave, then I’ll leave,” Fundy said while turning around, his tail hanging limp against the red stone. His fur was stained with ash, soot, and red dust. 

Tommy let him walk away, alone, towards the forest. He felt awful for scaring Ranboo enough that he felt the need to teleport away and now he was driving Fundy away for what? For caring? Why was he doing this? Didn’t he want help with Dream? Didn’t Bad encourage him to get help? So why was he driving away the only offer of help he has gotten?

Inwardly, he felt that this was right. That awful part of him said he deserved to be alone.

“Just remember,” Fundy said while stopping but without turning around. “We’re on your side, whether you want it or not.”

With that, Fundy walked off into the dense brush of the crimson forest, disappearing from view into a haze of red. Tommy had no idea where Ranboo teleported off to. Presumably, he went back to the nether portal in order to go home, but Tommy wished he would come back so he could apologize. Again. 

He relapsed twice in one day. Tommy ground his face into his hands, wings flaring in pure frustration. He shouted into the nether and no one responded. It didn’t even echo as the sound died on the hot walls and molten lava sea. That was fine. He didn’t deserve an echo. He didn’t deserve Ranboo. He didn’t deserve Fundy. He didn’t deserve L’Manberg-

Tommy wanted to cry, but no tears would form due to the heat of the nether. He was doing so well. He convinced himself that he was getting better, but he really wasn’t. He was worse if that was possible. All progress reverted in a flash because of a couple of familiar faces. Maybe Tubbo was right. He was too dangerous. He was selfish.

Sighing and resigning himself to his fate, Tommy decided to make this trainwreck up in the only way he knew how. He would go into the fortress and get blaze rods in order to give Ranboo his ender chest back. 

Drawing his iron sword, Tommy approached the hellish structure once more, but this time he didn’t have any allies by his side. That was fine, he said as he tightened his grip. They were all better for it. With that resolve, Tommy charged in and vented all his frustration towards any mobs that crossed his path.

He would make this right. Even if he didn’t deserve forgiveness, he would right this wrong that he created. Tommy stayed in the nether for hours upon hours, way longer than strictly necessary. He didn’t care. He felt like he needed to punish himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You still there? Thank you for reading, I know these chapters are getting absurdly long. Consider this a formal apology to my beta, violet_sunflowers, because I swear I do not mean to make more work for them. They are great though and have incredible patience. Please give them the love they deserve.
> 
> Otherwise, Ranboo and Fundy pog!!! I'm pretty happy with how I wrote Ranboo, but I haven't had many interactions with Fundy post-Revolutionary era (because I am a Tommy-centric fool). Please let me know of any inconsistencies (I might update this a couple more times but we'll see).
> 
> Next chapter, a long-awaited guest will be making an appearance...
> 
> Love you all! Don't forget to hydro-check and get enough sleep. (Next chapter will come out before 14 days, but that's the only real parameter I have. Hopefully before 7 days, but we'll see)


	6. The Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy wakes up in distress, but will anyone be there to help him? He is slowly learning to rely on himself and himself alone despite how he knows that he needs other people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I've made the executive decision to cap my word counts of chapters at 6k, or at least below 7k. This was, I can get chapters out sooner without sacrificing content. I'm not kidding, if I went with my original plan of having probably the next one or two chapters within this one, this chapter would be about 20k words. I am not even kidding.
> 
> So yeah! More frequent updates and short word counts, but it all breaks even in the end. I didn't realize how intimidating it was to read 9k words until I went back to read my fic to get inspiration. Bwoof. I will do better.
> 
> Without further adieu, please enjoy part one <3

For a second, Tommy felt weightless. The air around him moved languidly around him, teasing his feathers and wings into believing he was flying. The problems of the world were far behind him and everything was fine. For a second, everything was fine.

But then Tommy tried to take a breath and immediately, raw hot panic filled his veins. He was not in the air. He was not flying. He was underwater and being weighed down at a monumental pace. Taking stuttering breaths, water-filled his lungs and he opened his eyes. He didn’t know which way was up! Where was he? He didn’t see anything. All he saw was blurry darkness and he felt more scared than he had ever been in all his life.

Instantly, his brain jumped to his duel with Dream and he could just imagine that smug bastard watching the life drain from Tommy’s eyes as he sunk in the water, weighed down by his wings and helpless to stop it. His wings, which enabled him to touch the sun and challenge the birds above, were sentencing him to a watery grave. His scar from the arrow to his chest burned and he was reminded that he was not there. He didn’t know where he was but it was nowhere familiar.

Desperately, Tommy tried to flail, to scream, to thrust his wings against the current, but he was frozen stiff. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t even feel the cold though he knew the water must’ve been freezing. He didn’t know where he was or what he was doing, he only felt pure panic.

He was going to die here.

In milliseconds, he went from intense panic to grief to nothingness. Who would miss him if he were to die here? Ranboo? Tommy doubted their correspondence really meant anything to him. Ghostbur? Tommy doubted he even knew how to grieve. Phil? What does one more ghost in the family matter? His family hated him and his friends wanted him gone anyway. Anywhere he turned, he was alone. He would die here and that was simply the end of the story.

Briefly, he recalled the currents shifting around him as though someone was disturbing it before he was forced to fall asleep. He was tired anyways. What did it matter? The world faded into black.

-T-

Painfully and labor-filled, Tommy dragged burning intakes of air into his deprived lungs and he wheezed like he never breathed before in his life. Everything felt excruciating as he hungrily took gulps of air, never minding the pain as he struggled to come to terms with what had just happened.

Was that a dream? No, it couldn’t have been. He was shivering violently and placed uncomfortably with his head tilted to the side against the sand. His wings were waterlogged and refused to move. Tommy clenched his teeth and winced as sand gritted against them. His breathing was finally calming after several excruciating moments of air deprivation.

Tommy blinked several times, with labored movements bringing his hands to rub the sand and blurriness away. The world slowly came back into focus and he saw that it was still very dark. He began to panic, almost believing he was back underwater, before grabbing fistfuls of sand and forcing himself to focus on the stars gleaming above. He was back on land. He was safe.

He remained there, lying in the sand for several minutes, trying to come to terms with the fact that he was still alive. He didn’t die. The air felt sweet in his lungs and he never thought the wind would feel more euphoric against his face. Tommy was freezing cold and his wings were full of water and sand, but he was alive.

However, he couldn’t forget how he was ready to die.

A sob suddenly tore through him and he violently fought back the torrent of tears that threatened him. Tommy almost convinced himself that he wanted to die, that he was ready. He wasn’t ready. Tommy wanted to live and all he felt at that very moment was an unstoppable surge of shame and a sudden will to live.

But what did he really have to live for?

Tommy shook his head against the sand and made a mental list. He had plenty to live for. It took more than a little water to kill Tommyinnit! 

After all, Tommy had a great many things to live for. He had Logstedshire to finish, he had the hope of returning, he had Ranboo’s letters, he had Ghostbur’s reliable presence, he had “Chirp”, and he had himself. Soon, he would add L’Manberg and Tubbo back to the list. It was only a matter of time.

Feeling much better than he did before, Tommy labored himself into a sitting position, pushing against the sand with his hands and rolling over before sitting up. His wings were limp and useless behind him. They would take at least a few hours to dry, maybe more if he couldn’t get a fire going. Not to mention, his feathers would turn crusty and hard from the saltwater and sand. Tommy sighed. There was a reason he never learned to swim.

His lungs still ached with every heave of breath and every movement was labored, but he already felt astronomically better than he had when he first woke up. Tommy was still grappling with the fact that he almost died. If he had died in that ocean, there was no respawn waiting for him. That was it. He would’ve been done and that was that. Maybe he’d return as a ghost, like Wilbur, but there were no promises. There was no certainty in death except the inevitability of death itself.

Tommy looked around and found several footprints in the sand. If he had more energy, he would have tracked them to try and find whoever saved him before the high tide washed them away, but he didn’t have the wherewithal to do it. Besides, the tide was rising before his very eyes. It was a pointless endeavor.

The footprints looked heavy, however, and he recognized the way the print sunk into the sand. A faint aura of magic surrounded them, filling Tommy with the high of excessively enchanted armor. The boots would have practically been drowning in magic. Definitely netherite. No one would bother wasting energy by enchanting iron or diamond these days. 

He only knew two people so heavy-handed in enchanting and he happened to be related to both of them. Tommy refused to think of the implications of that. It didn’t matter. Whoever it was, Tommy suddenly didn’t want to know.

A vial of red liquid was planted in the sand haphazardly next to him. Whoever it was clearly didn’t care if the potion got smashed or not. Tommy sighed and already knew it to be a health potion. He was getting way too familiar with them for his liking.

Sighing and uncorking the vial. Tommy downed the vile-tasting liquid in one go. The taste of salt was replaced by the truly indescribable acidity of the potion, but the effects were potent. Warmth instantly spread to his limbs and he felt full of energy. Breathing came easier with each intake of air and soon, Tommy was not heaving but breathing normally.

The warmth faded almost as soon as it spread over him, but at least he knew he was healed from his late-night adventure. His wings were still waterlogged and his clothes were soaked, but at least one of those was an easy fix.

Slowly getting to his feet, Tommy tried to hold his wings in a normal fold, but quickly let them drop limply into the sand. They were far too heavy. Walking would be a pain for the next few hours, but at least he was alive. Tommy huffed a laugh at how low his standards were. No matter, he needed to get out of these clothes pronto, otherwise, he would die of hypothermia and lose the only thing he had going for him. Life itself.

Dragging his wings behind him, Tommy shuffled over to his tent and threw open the cloth entrance. Thankfully, Ghostbur had left him with several spare changes of clothing last night. He changed into a fresh set of clothes but still shivered against the chill of the air. It was beginning to get cold. Tommy eyes the brown, patchwork trench coat that laid haphazardly draped over his ender chest. He didn’t want to wear it, but he was too cold to ignore it.

Slipping his arms into the slightly oversized coat sleeves, Tommy no longer felt the cold. The trench coat was surprisingly warm. 

He was expecting the material to smell of ash and sulfur from the ambiance that Pogtopia and the control room saturated it with, but instead found it pleasantly comforting. It smelled like home with a faint hint of Wilbur. That being Alivebur, not the husk that took his place. His heart ached horribly and Tommy allowed himself to get lost in the scent. 

It brought him back to swaths of redwoods and memories of carelessly lazing about during the summertime with Tubbo by his side. He also thought of some of the only fond memories he had of his family altogether. Most of the stories that Wilbur told him, late at night around a campfire when everyone else had either fallen asleep or grown tired of his hymns. Tommy left home at a young age to follow Wilbur in his pursuits. For just a moment, he achingly thought of what might’ve happened had he stayed with Phil and Techno for just a couple more years.

Tommy pulled himself out of the reverie. Such thoughts were pointless. He had much larger things to worry about than his broken childhood. That mattered very little. All that truly mattered was that he now had a coat to protect himself from the cold.

Stepping out of this tent, with wings still sopping wet, Tommy trudged over to his nether portal in order to hopefully accelerate the process of his wings drying and to check if he had any mail. Tommy hated the nether on a good day and this day was already turning out quite awful, but he was filled with nervous excitement at the thought of another letter. 

Ranboo was very forgiving about Tommy’s incident at the nether and maintained that he simply wanted to help him. He extended the sentiment that Fundy wasn’t angry with the winged boy, merely concerned and that no one else in L’Manberg knew about his wings. Ranboo accepted his ender chest back without any question or argument, albeit a bit concerned. He never mentioned anything uncomfortable, however, and Tommy was thankful. Ranboo was quickly becoming Tommy’s greatest ally.

All too soon, Tommy found himself in front of the nether portal, the sooty obsidian blending into the pitch black of night and only slightly highlighted by the purple dimension shift inside. Closing his eyes, Tommy stepped into the portal and felt only minimal nausea while shifting planes. He felt the heat before he even arrived in the nether.

Opening his eyes again, Tommy was greeted by the increasingly familiar hellish landscape. He felt insanely relieved that he would never have to explore the nether again, now that he had an ender chest and had no need for any more blaze powder. Perhaps some glowstone might be nice for Logstedshire, but that would have to wait until his feathers molted and his primaries grew back in. Hopefully, Tommy will already be gone before that happens. 

Tommy stepped out of the portal and spread his wings slightly so they could dry evenly. Crouching and withdrawing his iron pickaxe, Tommy counted three blocks to the left of his portal and struck the red stone. After a couple of hits, it came loose to reveal the top of a red-stained chest with the word “mail” engraved onto it. Every morning, Tommy came to check on his ongoing correspondence with Ranboo in secret. The idea of going against Dream was exciting and so he suggested they hide their letters in case Dream took it as a threat. 

Most of their letters were harmless drabbles about their day, Tommy’s being carefully guarded to avoid any unneeded sympathy and Ranboo’s being censored to avoid any mentions of characters that might offend. They had an understanding. Sometimes, they wrote seriously about the state of the world and even mentioned brief plans of overthrowing Dream, but they both knew the idea was absurd in of itself. Ranboo was quickly becoming Tommy’s greatest friend and ally. 

Smiling and giddy with excitement, Tommy drew the sleeves of Wilbur’s coat over his hands and undid the latch. The metal would have been hot to the touch, as the winged boy unfortunately discovered after carelessly touching the clasp a couple days ago. In the center of the chest laid a leather-bound book. Tommy threw it open and skipped to the most current page, he was delighted to find it written in as it read:

“Hey Tommy,

Glad to hear that Ghostbur’s guitar sessions haven’t been too rough. I wish I could have heard him in his prime, but I’ll take the broken notes without complaint.

I hope you are doing well. As for your return, the news is very slow, but he seems to regret what he did and so maybe there’s hope for a prompt return! Just keep up hope. I’m seeing what I can do on my end. 

Here’s your daily joke: If we make muffin a swear, then Badboyhalo cannot speak at all! 

I thought it was pretty funny anyway.

Be careful,  
Ranboo (there is no ‘b’ on the end. Please don’t add one)”

Tommy smiled genuinely. He was a little saddened that he didn’t catch a glimpse of the enderman hybrid, but he supposed it was for the best. He was slightly unstable in his emotions these days and Ranboo was sensitive. No shame on him, of course, it was simply his instinct.

He could feel his wings becoming lighter and the excess ocean water slowly evaporated off his feathers and he began to sweat under the trench coat. He forced himself to keep wearing it, however, because he preferred a few moments of uncomfortable added heat to nursing another sunburn. Finally, his wings were dried enough to hold properly and so he folded them neatly behind him and he took out a pen and inkwell from the chest to write his response.

“Hey Ranboob,”

Tommy let the ink blot on the extra ‘b’, making it bold and extremely noticeable. He grinned and laughed. Just because he nearly died didn’t mean he had to suddenly change his personality.

“I’m doing better these days, much better after your letter. I love your jokes as always.

I think I’ve thought of one for you: What happened to the bird that tried to swim? He drowned.

Actually, that’s not really a joke. I nearly drowned this morning. Thought it was funny though and wanted to share. 

I look forward to your response,  
Big T”

Talking with Ranboo was probably one of the easiest things about exile. He wasn’t super thrilled about being away from Tubbo and his home, but he supposed this whole ordeal brought him closer to Ghostbur and Ranboo.

Tommy sighed. He wished someone would visit, but at the same time, he didn’t know if he fully deserved it. Every time someone would visit, Tommy would get into a really strange emotional state and scare them off or demand them to leave. There was a reason Bad, Ranboo, and Fundy never came back. It was because of him. It was always because of him.

But! At least through these letters, there was a safe distance so that he could talk with people, but not fear his own personal reactions. 

He put the book back in the chest and replaced the netherrack that was covering it. They decided to cover the chest not only to hide it from Dream but also to prevent the intense heat of the nether from igniting the wood. If Tommy lost this correspondence, he would have no communication with the outside world. 

Shaking out his rapidly drying wings, Tommy turned away from the portal and looked out over the nether wasteland that he was learning to accept. The heat was still absurd, but Tommy was starting to find the constant heat reassuring as the temperatures continued to drop in Logstedshire. He didn’t know how cold it was supposed to get, but if the couple nights were any indication, it would get almost unbearably cold.

It was only mid-December and Tommy was already struggling to sleep in the frigid wind, especially as it pulled on his tent, drowning out “Chirp” with the constant howling. He managed to get a bit of sleep each night, which was nice, but the bags under his eyes were steadily increasing. He would have to finish his winter structure today so that he could actually sleep.

This being said, Tommy was once again finding that the late hours of the night were a good time to get work done. He began exploring to the south, west, and last night, he began exploring the north. He could only travel just a few miles in any direction before needing to turn back, but he felt good about the progress he was making, even if it was slow.

He wasn’t entirely sure if Dream knew or would allow Tommy to explore his new territory, but frankly, Tommy didn’t really care. The tyrant swore against destroying the winged boy’s ender chest and he promised to leave “Chirp” alone, so aside from those two things, what did Tommy have to lose by disobeying Dream? He really didn’t have anything to lose. He doubted things could get much worse. Maybe Dream bought into his favorite lie of “being Tommy’s friend” and would avoid him as ‘punishment’. Honestly, that would more so be a reward than anything.

Without Dream, however, Tommy was truly alone.

Squinting in the distance, he could see the blackstone of the nether hub. Ghostbur was talking about a Christmas tree they decorated near the community house and promised to bring pictures. Tommy wondered if it would truly hurt anyone if he glided over to the portal one day and took a peek. Maybe he might even catch a glimpse of Tubbo. He wasn’t sure if that would actually be productive or not, but he yearned to catch a glimpse of the brunette. He missed him more than the world.

He already lost two brothers. He didn’t mean to lose another.

It was in this reminiscence that Tommy realized how difficult it was to find the Logstedshire portal. Maybe if he created a bridge from here to the nether hub, then it would be easier for people to visit. Maybe if people visited more, his emotions would stabilize a bit more. 

Tommy withdrew his to-do list from his pocket and wrote down “build bridge” right underneath “finish winter structure”. He actually had special plans for his winter hideout. He was hoping to not only use it as protection from the cold and snow but also to build a secret basement underneath it that he could store armor and weapons. Dream didn’t like him accumulating any sort of weaponry and so this would double as a necessity and an act of defiance.

He supposed the sun should be rising soon in Logstedshire. He was gone all night exploring and so he didn’t know if there were any repairs that needed to be done or if there were any changes at all, really. 

Hopping back into the portal, Tommy folded his wings and pulled the coat around him tightly, ready for the sudden cold to shock him. Sure enough, it felt almost like being plunged into an ice bath. He used to like the cold, but having to fend for himself on an unpopulated beach made him appreciate the milder weather he enjoyed in L’Manberg. Everything about L’Manberg was preferable to Logstedshire. 

The winged boy hopped out of the portal and blew out some air to see if his breath would be visible. Turns out that it wasn’t quite that cold yet and Tommy took that as a good sign. The sun was barely beginning to rise over Logstedshire, painting the sky with muted pinks and oranges before fading into a soft gray as the stars disappeared from the sky.

Tommy walked along the wooden path to Logstedshire proper and was surprised to find a smaller plowed path that definitely wasn’t there the night before. His blue eyes followed along the exposed dirt before they landed on a sight that made him feel giddier than he had in weeks.

A beautiful Christmas tree, fully adorned with ornaments of various colors, laid before him. A scarlet tree skirt was carefully laid under the spruce tree and Tommy genuinely smiled wide. He hadn’t seen an actual Christmas tree in almost two years. The Revolution left L’Manberg without any resources to properly decorate a tree and Wilbur was a bit out of his mind in Pogtopia. Tommy huffed a laugh. He couldn’t believe it was only a year after Pogtopia. It simultaneously felt like a lifetime ago and just yesterday. Days were blending together these days anyways.

Tommy ruffled his mostly dried wings against the cold air and pushed Pogtopia out of his mind. No need to get morose when there was a giant Christmas tree before you! He ran up to the tree and inspected one of the branches. He never saw this kind of tree around L’Manberg, but he did see some spruce trees up in his northern and western bounds.

Upon closer inspection, he saw that there was a chest underneath the tree with a sign that read, “not pity gifts, I swear. Merry Christmas, Puffy”. Tommy’s smile grew wider. He didn’t really know Puffy all that well but knew she was a close friend of Eret. The original traitor and Tommy have reached a sort of understanding since Eret gave up his crown to fight in the Pogtopian war. He was less of a traitor these days and more of a friend.

Tommy wondered if Eret was with Puffy when she set up the tree. He also wondered when they set it up in the first place.

Undoubtedly, it was when Tommy was still out exploring, he realized with a pang. He didn’t regret exploring, but there was always the risk of people arriving when he wasn’t there. Thus, he took to exploring at night, but apparently Captain Puffy was a bit of a night owl. Tommy felt a pang of grief. He couldn’t believe he missed them. He never got visitors but the one time he did, he was gone.

Not only was he gone but he was so tired after his expedition that he somehow missed the tree. He also somehow woke up in the ocean. Fleetingly, his mind suggested that one of his visitors attempted to drown him, but that was absurd. It didn’t stop the wave of superstition, but it made him feel ashamed that he would even think that.

Sighing and shaking his head, Tommy opened the chest and found almost a stack of blue wool, three diamonds, and a disc. Immediately, Tommy withdrew the disc and studied it. It was clearly much newer than “Chirp” as the vinyl wasn’t scratched and the label was much bright and free of tears. The winged boy recognized the dark and lime green label as “Far”.

Wilbur never really got around to learning “Far” on the guitar, but he distinctly remembered Fundy playing it on his keyboard. He never really flaunted his abilities, but after a long night of fighting for their independence, the fox’s music helped him fall asleep. He has several good memories with “Far” but most of them related to the war and so he more or less pushed the disc out of his mind. Still, he was glad to have another disc.

Tommy was struck with an idea. He took the wool and the diamonds out of the chest and sprinted to his tent. He knew that Dream wouldn’t let him keep anything he made, but maybe if he hid it before Dream arrived then maybe he could keep it. Tommy retrieved his jukebox and several iron ingots from his ender chest before dashing out of the tent and running to Logstedshire proper. 

Tommy may not be the greatest blacksmith, but he finally had the will to forge some iron armor.

The first thing Tommy did was place the jukebox and insert “Far”. The music was a lot quieter and calmer than “Chirp”. Much better to focus with. It always made him think of his various adventures with Wilbur, Phil, and… and Techno. He didn’t particularly want to think of his estranged brother and so he opted to push the memory out of his mind and simply focus on working.

He first constructed a few chests to hide his armor and tools away in. This mostly involved setting up some planks and roughly nailing them together. They weren’t pretty, but they would have to work.

Next, Tommy lit his forge and watched the iron melt down into a moldable liquid. He was never really a fan of blacksmithing since it was slow and time-consuming, but with no one around to do it for him, he didn’t really have a choice. He was mostly looking forward to spiting Dream. Tommy would cooperate, but only to keep his life. In terms of integrity, the tyrant didn’t deserve any.

Probably a bit sooner than he should have, Tommy poured the first few liquified ingots into a mold for a helmet. It was rough and definitely wouldn’t be perfect, but it was the best Tommy could do.

He did the same for a chest plate, set of greaves, and boots. It was only mid-morning when Tommy finished pouring the molds and it would take a few hours for the chest plate to finish setting so he could remove them from the mold and see if they actually fit. He knew he poured the iron unevenly and the final designs would not be perfect, but it was the best he could do. They would protect Tommy, even if they were weaker in some areas and broke a bit easier than they should.

If Tommy’s mystery savior from this morning showed up again, he would need to be able to defend himself. An uneasy part of him already knew who it was, or at least who it could have been. Their names were written all over the magic-infused footprints they left. Tommy knew only two madmen that were crazy enough to labor over an enchanting table for, sometimes, even days straight in order to get the perfect enchantment. He was pretty sure they even learned to speak the language. Sometimes, when he still lived with them, he swore he could hear them reciting the cryptic language in their sleep. It was always disconcerting.

Even more disconcerting now that he wasn't exactly on good terms with either of them. He was hesitant to even name them in case he flew into another rage. Tommy wished he could say he was doing well, but he said that last time then almost scared Ranboo half to death. Fundy hasn’t spoken to him since, but Ghostbur swears that he’s still on his side and Ranboo reinforces there was no harm done. Still, Tommy had a hard time believing it. Who could forgive a lunatic?

Tommy shook his head and simply took the sloppily made chests over to his half-constructed shelter. He kicked a few planks before finding the set that hid his trap door. He tore them off and jumped down into the shallow basement. 

Tommy supposed he should work on finishing this shelter before the winter came in full force. Already, it was feeling colder in Logstedshire, much colder than it got in L’Manberg around this time of the year. He wondered how much snow he would get, but then pushed away the thought as he realized there would be no one to enjoy it with.

With an uncomfortable twitch of his wings, he placed the sloppily made chests down in the corner, well away from the entrance in case Dream found this room. Tommy hated being underground more than anything, but it was a necessary sacrifice. Dream had taken to searching Tommy’s chests to see if he was hiding any weapons or armor. Thankfully, he stopped blowing up his food supply, but that was the lowest possible bar of human decency.

The clasps on his chests were strange and definitely were not made properly, but Tommy didn’t care. He simply made sure they could stand then climbed up the rungs of the ladder to leave. He didn’t bother replacing the planks as he would have to put his armor down there soon anyway. 

Tommy checked on the set of iron armor, which was more or less solidified at this point, but he decided to let them stand and cool just a few moments longer. Next order of business was to figure out what to do with these three diamonds he had been gifted. He had just enough to make an axe, but figured that might be a waste of resources since his iron axe was just fine. A diamond pick was also unnecessary as Tommy avoided the mines like the plague. He shivered and his, now completely dried, wings twitched against the idea of spending any more time in the caves than he had to.

Maybe a sword would be good. Since it was getting darker earlier and since Tommy was making a habit of traveling at night, making a diamond sword was probably the most logical decision. He withdrew two blue stones from his inventory and heated them up into a liquid before pouring it into a mold. 

The sword would take only a fraction of the time to set as the armor did. Tommy sat by his workbench and allowed the softer melody of “Far” to occupy his mind while he waited for his armor and sword to set. He always hated waiting but listening to music helped the time pass. 

A quick glance at the sun showed that he still had a couple of hours before Dream was due to arrive. A feeling of dread filled Tommy as he realized that he probably shouldn’t work on his winter structure due to the contraband he was fixing to hide under the floorboards. Maybe Ghsotbur could help him this evening. Tommy would have to begin work on the nether path today. He really didn’t want to spend any more time in the nether than he had to but if he wanted visitors, it would have to be done.

Tommy ruffled his feathers and stood up to check on the armor. They were certainly solid at this point but were very rough and gritty under his fingertips. He curled his lip at the texture. Oh well. It’s not like he had any other tools befitting of a blacksmith. This was really the best he could do. Still, it didn’t change the fact he had better armor in the Revolutionary War and that was saying something.

For the sake of it, Tommy decided to pull the bits of armor off of the mold and began to strap them on. He knew the size would be right since these molds were specifically made for his measurements, but he wanted to make sure the weight was correct. He may not have been a blacksmith, but he wore quite a bit of armor in his lifetime.

The helmet felt fine, if a bit lopsided, but it would protect his head and that’s all he could really ask for. The greaves were a bit tight around his calves and Tommy suspected he might need to renew his mold soon. He must’ve grown a bit in the past few months. Tubbo would be furious, Tommy thought with a laugh. His smile died as he realized that Tubbo likely didn’t care at the moment.

Tommy shook his head once more. The boots were also a bit tight around his feet, but they would do. He just couldn’t wear them for long amounts of time. That was fine. He could only really wear this set when Dream was gone anyways. 

The chest plate was always a hassle to get on due to his wings, but thanks to straps around his back instead of actual iron plating, it was easier to get on. He smiled as he remembered trying to put on Techno’s armor as a little kid. He couldn’t figure out how to get his wings through until Phil showed him how a winged person properly wore armor. Tommy’s smile turned bitter.

He didn’t miss Phil. Really, he didn’t. It was clear that Phil didn’t miss him either given his less than lukewarm greeting when the older man finally joined Wilbur’s orphaned country. All Tommy ever had was Wilbur and now? All Tommy had was a ghost. He supposed it was fitting in a weird way.

Tommy sighed but ultimately pushed the thought out of his mind. His armor felt alright, all things considered. They weren’t ready for battle yet, but with some polish and sanding, they’d take him a long way. Zombies and skeletons of the world beware! Big man Tommyinnit was now armed and ready on whoever crossed his path!

He checked the diamond sword that was in the mold and was satisfied to find that the higher quality gem had already settled. Hastily, Tommy strapped a spare bit of wood he had to the gem and gave it a few swings. He felt powerful!

Tommy would have to give this blade a proper hilt eventually, but for now, it would do just fine. Checking the hilt that was strapped to his side, Tommy withdrew his iron sword with the L’Manberg seal engraved in the hilt and placed his new diamond sword in its place. It felt lighter, but he knew that it was so much stronger. Tommy wondered if he could detach the hilt of the iron sword and attach it to his new diamond sword. That way, it would have all the sentimental attachment, but be way more useful.

Maybe he could even enchant his diamond sword and iron set. A spark of excitement ran through Tommy. If he could gather enough materials quick enough then Dream would not stand a chance! Maybe he could get Ghostbur to join him! Maybe Ranboo would lend a hand! Of course, he wouldn’t force either of them into battle, but maybe with enchanted gear, he would stand a chance.

What’s really the difference between diamond and netherite anyways? He’d just need more enchantments! And unbeknownst to Dream, the skill of enchanting ran through his veins. Sure, he never really did it before, but how hard could it be? He could figure it out.

With wings flaring in excitement, Tommy dug under his iron chest plate to withdraw his to-do list from his coat pocket. His list was steadily growing and he found more and more things he needed to do. Most recently, he crossed off “explore west”, “explore south”, and he tentatively crossed off “explore north”. The tundra that laid in the northern edge was too harsh to travel at night with minimal gear. However, he did find a village roughly northwest of his location so he should be able to complete his new objective rather easily.

Tommy scrawled out “get books” into an empty space below “get ready” and swore to enchant this sword and use it to get back his freedom. He would never be free until he either kills Dream or asserts himself and he honestly didn’t even know if Dream was a man that could be killed. That hardly mattered. Tommy would do what he always did. He would fight back and challenge death until they tired of arguing. This war wasn’t one of skill or wealth. It was a battle of attrition. And Tommy was stubborn enough to outlast death itself.

He was a survivor, goddamnit! Tommy raised his diamond sword to the sky and watched the midday sun dance along the blade. One day, he would have Dream begging for mercy on the other end of this blade. Not today, not tomorrow, maybe not even a year from now. But eventually? Tommy would win.

Tommy was so caught up in his feelings of triumph that he completely forgot the significance of midday.

“Tommy!” a familiar voice called out.

All bravado drained from the boy and his face paled. Every muscle and instinct was screaming to run and hide all that he had just made. He didn’t have much time to react before the man of the hour rounded the corner to find Tommy fully armed with a furnace still hot from melting iron and diamonds.

The cold suddenly cut right through Wilbur’s old coat and Tommy’s new armor. Instead of bravery and triumph, all Tommy felt was cold dread filling his veins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! Much easier to read, right? Hopefully. I was writing and this felt like a natural stopping point. I really wanted to incorporate Techno into this chapter properly, but it's just not ready yet. I have 7 drafts of this chapter of Tommy meeting Techno, but it never felt right. You guys deserve better than a phone in Techno appearance.
> 
> Next chapter will be soon, like I said, it was meant to be apart of this chapter but then I nixed it because of A) my suffering beta, violet_sunflowers, and B) because I feel bad for writing a textbook of what is LITERALLY THE INTRODUCTION OF MY FIC IDEA. We're not anywhere near the start of the proper story and we are already at 32k words. My goodness.
> 
> Anyways, hope you enjoy! Please let me know what you link of my new idea. I may or not change my previous chapters and split them up. Probably not. I might also edit this doc a few times.
> 
> I dunno guys, AP exams are coming up and this fic is the only thing keeping me going. Any other US seniors facing AP exams or really anyone facing a big exam, o7 and hats off to you.
> 
> Drink water and sleep. Yes, that is a threat.


	7. The Reminder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy loses it all again, but at least Ghostbur is here with him today. But how much can exiled boy take? And how much understanding can a dead man offer?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright alright alright! Remember how I said I wouldn't write a chapter over 6k again? Yeah, that was funny. This is almost 8k words. I am so sorry, voilet_sunflowers, the wonderful person who is my beta. I tried, but writing during the Super Bowl inspired me and this chapter ran away.
> 
> I'm actually posting this without it being beta'd because I am impatient and feel bad that I keep doing this to my beta. So, I ran it through Grammarly and I hope it is adequate. 
> 
> I really like this chapter. It's pretty description-heavy at the end, but I really like it. It makes me happy. Please enjoy!

Tommy fumbled with his sword and quickly hid it from view. His mind was in a million different places. He was tempted to dash for his chest room and deposit all his hard work into his rickety crates before Dream could realize what was happening, but he knew that would be pointless. He was caught with red hands. All Tommy could hope for was that Dream didn’t see his sword.

The winged boy was violently cursing himself out. Why didn’t he pay more attention to the time? It was only his life at stake after all! Tommy’s wings flared out behind him in frustration. He was itching to take flight and run away, but he was stuck on the ground like always. 

Briefly caught with indecision, Tommy looked over to the green-cloaked tyrant before him. His expression was unreadable through the mask but Tommy just knew that Dream was furious. He constructed a set of iron armor and was wielding a diamond sword. Despite the fact that there were no rules specifically barring these items, Tommy knew the cost.

His mind also screamed at the fact that he had left his chest room completely exposed. Today was the day Tommyinnit was going to die.

“Tommy,” Dream said with a dangerous edge.

Tommy nearly jumped out of his skin, but he purposefully straightened himself against the wave of fear. He could see the tyrant’s cruel axe blade gleaming in the sunlight. Tommy wondered if he would finally be on the receiving end of it, but he knew that if Dream wanted him dead, he would have no time to think about it.

“Dream,” the winged boy responded, trying to imitate the man’s harder tone. “What do you want?”

“C’mon, Tommy. We’ve been over this before! I don’t want anything.”

“Then why are you here?” Tommy’s tone held no surprise as he inched his hand towards his iron blade. His new diamond wasn’t ready yet.

“I’ve already told you, Tommy,” Dream said.

“Yeah, to blow up my stuff?” the winged boy challenged. “Every time you come here, it’s just trouble!”

“Tommy,” Dream said while approaching the boy in question. Tommy tightened his grip on his blade. “I’m your friend. That’s why I’m here.”

Tommy spread his wings out behind him and narrowed his eyes. He wouldn’t let Dream take his things again without a fight. He knew he couldn’t win, but it was all about appearances and he would very clearly present himself as a man that would not yield to a tyrant. He bared his teeth and shifted all his weight to his feet, ready to charge at the man.

The winged boy expected Dream to place a hand ever-so-mockingly on the shoulder of his axe, but to his dismay, the masked man simply huffed and raised his hands in a motion of surrender.

“I don’t want to fight you, Tommy,” he said.

“I’m not your friend!” Tommy exclaimed. “Nor will I ever be! I don’t need you! There are plenty of people in L’Manberg that actually care about me. All you care about is power.”

Dream simply motioned around him and said, “Is there anyone else here?”

At this, Tommy faltered and lowered his guard ever so slightly. Dream took this as an opening and approached the winged boy, placing a hand on Tommy’s iron-plated shoulder. He wanted to forcibly shove the tyrant’s hand off his shoulder and shout that he had plenty of people. But a whisper of doubt made his grip slacken and his wings drop. 

Where was everyone? If Tubbo regretted what he did like Ranboo mentioned, then why wasn’t he here? Why wasn’t anyone here?

Tommy scoffed lightly. It really wasn’t such an unanswerable question. He drove away anyone that visited. It’s not like the number was big in the first place. Ranboo didn’t mean for Tommy to see him in the nether. Fundy only came at Ranboo’s request. Sure, Captain Puffy and Eret made him that Christmas tree, but would they really have gone through the effort if they knew the monster Tommy was devolving into? He seriously doubted it.

His face dropped incrementally, but Dream caught it. Of course, he did. He saw everything.

“Come on, Tommy. It’s fine,” Dream said in a comforting manner. “It’s only been a few weeks since you’ve been here and everyone is very busy with the Holidays coming up. I’m sure at the turn of the New Year, you’ll have plenty of visitors.”

Tommy shrugged off Dream’s hand and sighed before saying, “If people aren’t coming now then who’s to say they ever will.”

“Tommy, it’s fine,” Dream assured. “Just trust me.”

The winged boy just rolled his eyes and ruffled his wings, folding them reluctantly behind him. His day of fighting back was not today. Tommy sheathed his sword and shoved his hands into his coat pocket, albeit a bit awkwardly due to his chest plate. He felt exceedingly awkward standing there in his roughly drafted armor and his diamond sword was burning a hold in his inventory. He could only hope that Dream didn’t see it.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tommy said while shrugging off Dream’s hand. “Is there anything you actually want or can I get to work? I have a bit of a busy day today.”

“Oh, what do you need to do?” Dream asked, in what Tommy knew to be fake curiosity. “Maybe I can help.”

The winged boy just sighed. He knew that the tyrant wouldn’t give up until he got an answer so he said, “I’ve got to finish my shelter and I also have to make a path in the nether.”

Dream hummed in consideration and Tommy rolled his eyes. 

“So are you going to leave so I can do my work or are you guys going to watch awkwardly?” the winged boy asked in irritation. He had no patience for Dream’s games today.

“Tommy, I can’t just leave,” Dream said.

“What?” the boy asked pleadingly. “Why not?”

“Come on. Follow me.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

Tommy did, in fact, know why, but that didn’t mean he was happy about it. As Dream turned around to exit Logstedshire Proper, Tommy considered running him through with a sword. His guard was down and it would be so easy. His fingers itched towards the hilt of his iron sword and he considered summoning his diamond one, but the sun caught the purple sheen of Dream’s axe and that made Tommy come back to his senses. 

He sighed and followed behind Dream, his boots uncomfortably squeezing his feet with every movement. It was a pointless resistance and he knew it.

Tommy just spent hours upon hours forging armor only for it to be destroyed. His wings twitched uncomfortably and he took off his helmet. He knew that his armor was a lost cause, but maybe if he gave up his armor without a fight, Dream won’t mention the sword. Maybe he didn’t even see the sword.

That diamond sword was Tommy’s ticket to a new life. It represented a hope that was quite rare in these trying times. Just holding it sent a thrill through Tommy and made him feel ready to conquer the world. It was no mistake why Dream gave the exiled boy an iron set rather than a diamond set. It wasn’t for the price, but rather for the fact that iron could never match the strength of netherite. It wasn’t even worth enchanting. Diamond on the other hand might stand a chance.

With nervous anticipation, Tommy left Logstedshire’s walls and raised a hand against the sun’s rays. Dream waited several feet away from the path and any structures, a shovel in hand as he struck the earth. Tommy approached the tyrant with very slow steps. He was going to comply, but that didn’t mean he had to be thrilled about it.

While Dream busied himself with digging a hole, Tommy dropped his roughly crafted helmet to the ground. He reached behind himself and undid the straps to his chest plate, allowing it to crash to the dirt. He repeated the process with his greaves, but it took considerable effort to take off his boots.

Dream caught sight of his struggle and commented, “You know, it’s not good to wear ill-fitting armor.”

Tommy didn’t dignify that with a response as he continued to try and tug his foot out of the iron boot. Finally, the boot came off and the momentum sent Tommy crashing backward. He spread his wings and beat them to try and reverse his momentum, but he was helpless as he landed harshly in the dirt.

“You see? I’m actually doing you a favor,” Dream continued. “It’s hard to get rid of armor without TNT.”

Once again, Tommy just sighed and bit back a remark as he stood. He straightened his shoulders and folded his wings neatly to make up for his complete lack of grace. Looking Dream steely in the eyes, Tommy threw his armor into the pit with a carefully neutral expression. He hadn’t said anything yet, so maybe he didn’t know. The diamond sword burned a hole in his inventory. If Tommy got away with this, he would be well on his way to defying Dream’s tyrannical role in his life. He was one step closer to freedom.

Tommy stepped back from the pit and turned to hide behind a nearby tree. He knew the consequences of standing too close to an explosion. Though the charges Dream used were weak, they still packed a punch if you stood too close. Not to mention that TNT brought back some painful memories.

The winged boy didn’t walk two steps, however, when Dream cleared his throat. 

“Forgetting anything, Tommy?” 

The blood froze in Tommy’s veins once more, but he played it casually and turned to face Dream with a steady look on his face. His wings began to twitch, but he forcefully held them steady in a tight fold.

“Nope,” Tommy replied. “Unless you mean this blue wool and disc I got from Puffy? I can toss those in if you’d like.”

Nothing mattered except for his sword. He would toss everything in his inventory into the pit if it meant he could keep his sword. He really didn’t want to lose “Far”, but it really wasn’t his favorite track to begin with. 

Tommy took the steps forward to deposit the wool and the disc, but Dream held him back with the palm of his hand. He could feel the suspicion radiating off the tyrant and Tommy began to get nervous.

“You are being unusually compliant today,” Dream noted.

Tommy shrugged. “I’m just not super eager to get killed. I’ve been thinking about what you said and you’re right. I know you’re just trying to help me out in the end.”

The words were empty and meaningless and he didn’t mean a single one of them, but if they would save his diamond sword then he would beg on his hands and knees preaching Dream’s gospel.

“I’m glad you think that, Tommy,” Dream said. “I only want what’s best for you.”

“Exactly,” the winged boy said through gritted teeth.

Tommy smiled tightly at Dream and offered his wool and disc. The tyrant shook his head, however, and said, “You can keep those.”

“Thank you-” Tommy began before getting cut off.

“Since you are feeling so compliant today,” Dream began. “I’m sure you wouldn’t mind emptying your inventory.”

The winged boy scoffed and said, “What are you expecting? Gold? This is all I have.”

“That so?”

“Well, aside from my iron set, yeah.”

Dream hummed and took a step towards Tommy, a dangerous air filled the area. His wings tensed and every instinct was once again screaming for him to take flight. He didn’t know what he did wrong. He gave up his armor without a fight. He even offered to toss in his gifts! Any other day, he would have fought tooth and nail to keep a single scrap. 

A cold sense of realization filled him. That’s what he was doing wrong. He wasn’t fighting. Dream should have been pleased, but Tommy’s attempt to throw the masked man off his scent only served to further his suspicion. 

“I know you're lying, Tommy,” Dream said.

“Would I lie to you, Dream? That doesn’t sound like something I’d do-”

“Tommy.” 

The tyrant put a hand on the shoulder of his axe, the cruel blade gleaming in the midday sun. Adrenaline immediately sent tremors of panic throughout Tommy. His hands began to shake and his breathing deepened. But despite this, Tommy held firm and continued to stare Dream in the eye with only slight fear shining in his blue eyes. The tyrant would not get a response. Tommy had nothing to prove and nothing to show. 

“All I have is that armor and my gifts.” The winged boy straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin in bold defiance.

This clearly was the wrong answer. Before Tommy could react, Dream drew his axe in a single fluid motion and leveled the blade at the boy’s neck. All Tommy could do was choke out a sound of shock as he felt the cold metal bite into his skin. He was now in a very dangerous situation, but he still thought that he might be able to get out of it.

If Dream wanted to kill him, he would have done that already and that was the string of logic Tommy was relying on. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Dream said. 

The winged boy wanted to respond. He wanted to send a witty remark that would disarm his oppressor and in his first triumph, he would knock the blade away and keep his diamond sword. But all of Tommy's functions were betraying him. He was so terrified of losing his last life that he was shaking. Even if he managed to catch Dream by surprise, he wouldn’t have the strength to fight back.

But still, Tommy had to try.

“Y-you-” the winged boy began shakily before being cut off.

He was shoved harshly into the dirt, landing painfully on his wings and forcing the breath out of his lungs. A foot was being pressed onto Tommy’s chest and a steadily growing weight was forcing all the air out of his lungs. He struggled just to breathe.

“I know you have a diamond sword,” Dream accused. “Just give it to me and I’ll let you go.”

Tommy grit his teeth and shook his head, laying both hands on the worn combat boot that Dream wore in an attempt to dislodge it. The tyrant wasn’t having any of it, though. Dream removed the blade from Tommy’s neck only to raise it in an arc above his head.

Oh god, he was going to strike. One hit from that blade and he was dead.

All Tommy could do was watch in horror in Dream began to force the blade down with deadly precision. He was going to die here.

In a moment of pure panic, he summoned the diamond sword and used it to block the axe. Tommy closed his eyes and waited for the horrible ringing clash of metal against metal and for his diamond sword to shatter until the superior blade of netherite, but no such thing happened. He opened his eyes to find the axe barely an inch away from striking his sword. Dream had stopped.

In his shock, he barely registered the rough hand twisting the makeshift hilt out of his hand, forcing himself to surrender the sword. Dream slid axe back into its sling on his back and stepped off of Tommy, allowing him to catch his breath again.

Tommy was still recovering from the pure adrenaline running through his veins, but he knew that he had to move. He could not lose that sword. He refused. That sword was the only thing he had! It was his ticket to freedom!

The diamond sword clanged at the bottom of the pit and Tommy watched as Dream dropped dynamite into the hole.

The winged boy launched himself towards the pit, not sparing a moment to think, and shouted, “No! You can’t take that!”

He scrambled desperately to retrieve the blade, but-

He didn’t make it in time as an explosion knocked him back. It was all gone. All of it. Tommy lost consciousness before he hit the ground due to the percussion of the blast.

-T-

When Tommy awoke next, his head was pounding viciously and this horrible ringing flooded his senses. It all seemed terribly familiar. With a pained groan, Tommy sat up in his cot and found that every muscle in his was sore and screamed at every movement. Every sound was muted and he struggled to pick out any individual noises. It sounded as though he were underwater.

At the thought of the ocean, panic seized Tommy, making wings flare out, ready to run. He forced himself steady by gripping the old mattress of his cot and reminding himself of his surroundings.

He was inside his tent. There was no sun reflecting brightly onto the white vinyl, but he knew it was still day because he could see without the aid of a torch. He was sure the wind was loudly striking the sides of his tent, but he couldn’t hear it. Tommy brought a hand up to his ear and snapped. Nothing but a dull sound could be heard. It was as though someone had snapped a few feet away rather than right into his ear.

All things considered, Tommy wasn’t super surprised. He’s suffered hearing loss countless times in his life and he was very familiar with the sensation. 

The first time he had lost his hearing, it was when he was just a kid and Techno was first learning how to make fireworks, without Phil’s supervision, of course. There was a faulty charge in one of the explosives that made it fire in their small cabin. Tommy was so certain he was going to die because he couldn’t hear the glass shatter when one of their vases fell off the counter. When Phil came home, Tommy was crying while Techno and Wilbur were trying to hide all evidence of their mishap. 

Tommy smiled in fond remembrance how his brothers were trying to pin it all on him. That he made the mistake and they were just fixing his mess. Phil, of course, wasn’t hearing any of it. Tommy had been afraid of explosives ever since he was a little kid, but he largely grew desensitized to them given the explosive hazard that was his family. Were they still his family?

The winged boy just sighed and stood up, not having enough energy to ponder this question. He struggled to gain his balance, wobbling slightly before spreading his wings and righting himself. Tommy supposed that whatever exploded must have hurt his ear worse than he anticipated. His equilibrium was totally shot. Oh well. Nothing a health potion couldn’t fix.

Yeah, this all felt very familiar. It felt like a dull memory that he just couldn’t quite place.

Ducking under his tent entrance, Tommy looked around and tried to get his bearings straight. The sky looked dark like it was fixing to rain or sleet at any moment. He was filled with a sense of dread as he realized that he had no reliable shelter. After almost three weeks of reliable sunshine, Tommy had been spoiled. He really should have finished his shelter in the first week.

The rain wasn’t the only thing in the air, however. It was no wonder why Tommy’s hearing was shot. The scent of gunpowder was still heavy in the air. It came back in a rush. He recalled fighting with Dream to keep his diamond sword. He recalled the horrible desperation as he lunged towards it. The netherite against his skin. The heat of the explosion.

Tommy brushed a hand against his throat where Dream had laid his blade. There was a slight tenderness where the netherite bit him, but it must’ve been very shallow because there was no blood, only a slight roughness on his skin. 

Tommy coughed. The gunpowder was very strong in the air. He knew that Dream’s usual explosions only ever left a slight residue that was carried away within a few minutes. This time, however, it was thick in the air. He glanced over at the horizon to find the sun setting behind the clouds. He was out for a good few hours if the sun was beginning its descent. Tommy wondered what could have caused this.

He realized with a jolt that this much residual gun powder could only mean one thing. It was at this moment, he remembered his crucial mistake. He left his storage room uncovered.

Adrenaline shot through his veins as he spun around, making him feel very sick since his equilibrium was all off. Logstedshire looked fine, but Tommy had to be sure. He stumbled over to his wooden home with a strong sense of urgency. He was leaning heavily to one side but used his wings to keep balanced and upright.

If Logstedshire was gone, he would have nothing. He would have nothing left to work on and nothing left to look forward to. Weeks of work would have gone down the drain and if losing a couple of hours due to his armor was bad? A whole building would have been devastating. Tommy wasn’t sure if he could handle that.

Rounding the corner to ender his shelter, he was bracing himself to find a crater. Tommy stopped in his tracks as he saw anything but devastation. He was shocked.

“Ghostbur?” Tommy called out, perhaps a bit too loud, to the ghost before him.

His brother had evidently been preoccupied with finishing the winter shelter while Tommy was unconscious. It looked far more study and appealing than anything Tommy could have built. The structure he had in mind more so resembled a rough shed than the proper house that stood before him. 

His brother stepped away from his work to look at Tommy with his brown wings spread. He raced over and Tommy was taken aback.

“-ommy!” Ghostbur called out.

He could barely hear a word that the ghost was speaking. He could catch random bits of information, but other than that, he couldn’t hear a thing. Tommy held up a hand to stop Ghostbur from saying whatever it was that he was going to say and gestured to his ears.

The ghost had a look of realization and offered a red health potion to Tommy. The thought of taking another potion sickened him, but he didn’t have much of a choice unless he wanted to be practically deaf the rest of the day.

With a moment’s hesitation, Tommy uncorked the bottle and downed it in one go. 

As he swallowed the red contents of the vial, he was horrified to find that instead of comforting warmth, he felt every fiber of his being rejecting the liquid. His throat closed and he sputtered, choking on the potion. It burned horrible and felt very much like he had just taken a shot of whiskey rather than a health potion. He felt his stomach churning.

Oh god, he was going to be sick.

With great urgency, Tommy raced outside of Logstedshire and fell onto his hands and knees onto the grass, heaving and praying the sensation would stop soon. He supposed the potion must have been working despite his body’s reaction because he heard a sharp pop and the world sprang back into sound.

“-ay?” He heard a tinny voice finish the end of his sentence in a frantic tone.

“What?” Tommy choked out in a labored voice.

“Are you okay?” Ghostbur repeated as he sat next to the boy.

“What does it fucking look like?!” 

“Right, but I was sure that was a healing potion-” Ghostbur fretted before his eyes widened and his wings flared. “Unless that wasn’t your only one of the day?”

Tommy didn’t respond and he could hear the ghost mutter something under his breath before withdrawing something from his inventory. A glass of milk was held out in front of Tommy and he gladly took it, drinking it desperately. 

The coolness of the liquid felt extremely soothing and within a few minutes, his horrible reaction to the health potion was gone. He sat back and returned the glass to Ghostbur. Concern shone brightly in his brother’s brown eyes, but he carefully averted his gaze.

“Thanks!” Tommy shouted with almost overwhelming energy. “No clue what that was all about. Must’ve been a bad batch.”

“I don’t make bad batches,” Ghostbur affirmed, looking skeptical. 

“Well yeah, but everyone makes mistakes,” Tommy glossed over. “Anyways! I love what you’ve done with the place!”

With any bit of luck, his brother would drop the subject and Tommy would not have to think about that morning. He was not eager to have that conversation and he did not want to admit to anything. Neither how he managed to wake up in the ocean or how he couldn’t even save himself. His nerves seized the very thought of being underwater. He shook his head to rid himself of his thoughts.

He definitely didn’t want to unpack all that today. Or ever.

“Tommy, you’ve already had a health potion today.”

Just his luck.

Tommy sighed and said, “Yeah. What of it?”

“You know how dangerous that can be!”

“So what?!”

“I told you to be more careful!” Ghostbur exclaimed. “You told me you would be more careful and that I would never have to see you like that again!”

Tommy instantly felt all his patience deplete as every single word grated his nerves. Did his brother seriously not understand how dangerous it was to be out here? How he has to fight just to stay alive! So what if he had taken a couple more potions than he should have? So what? It’s not like he was getting any sort of help.

“I don’t exactly have much control these days,” Tommy said sharply.

“You didn’t tell me.”

“I shouldn’t have to!”

The boy sprang up to his feet and flared his wings. If Ghostbur wanted to fight him on this then he would fight. His situation was awful and nobody understood. The instant someone feigned even slight understanding, they would demonstrate just how little they cared. Tommy didn’t truly believe that his brother meant anything ill, but his ignorance grated his nerves. He had the luxury of forgetting Tommy’s situation. Tommy was not so lucky.

“I am in exile, Ghostbur,” Tommy began. “Exile. Not a vacation. Not a retreat. Exile. You know what that means?”

“Tommy I-”

“It means things are fucking horrible! It means I get no help! It means I have no allies!” Tommy rounded on Ghostbur with a hand inching towards his iron sword. “It means I have no friends.”

Ghostbur laid a hand on Tommy’s shoulder to offer some sort of comfort, a sick sense of concern in his muted brown eyes. The boy was sick of it. He shrugged it off and continued his rant.

“I am not lucky enough to limit my potion intake. I don’t have any control over what happens to me! None! Zero control! It’s all predetermined by that masked bastard and whatever sick god likes to watch me suffer-” Tommy took a deep breath- “So I am sorry I am not as careful as I promised. But it is not my choice.”

Tommy was really hoping Ghostbur would rise to his anger like he would’ve when he was alive. He needed someone to fight with. Someone to blame for all this tragedy because if there was no one to blame? He’d have to blame himself. But Ghostbur was not so merciful. Instead, his brother looked at him with great sympathy and offered nothing but acceptance.

“I’m sorry, Tommy,” Ghostbur began. “I’m sorry this has been so rough on you.”

“Whatever,” the boy said, shrugging off the apology. It was empty anyway.

The winged boy stood there for a second, awkwardly not knowing what to do. Should he tell Ghostbur about this morning? Should he apologize? He didn’t want to do either, but now that his anger was gone, he just felt empty again.

Whether the ghost realized his inner turmoil or not, his brother graciously took the lead. 

Immediately snapping back into his usual energy, Ghostbur exclaimed, “Well anyway, why don’t you come and see what Dream and I have done with the place!”

“Wait, Dream’s been working with you?” Tommy asked warily.

“Yup!”

“Is Dream here now?” 

Tommy’s wings shuffled nervously as he thought of the tyrant. He really didn’t want to see Dream. He had open defied him. The last time Tommy angered Dream, he woke up on a deserted beach with his primaries missing. Granted, his wings were supposedly his own fault, but that did make the pattern any less clear. Those that messed with Dream were going to suffer.

“No,” Ghostbur said while Tommy sighed in relief. “But, he said that he wanted me to tell him when you awoke so I should probably get him once I show you around.”

“No no no,” Tommy said. “Please don’t get Dream.”

The ghost tilted his head in confusion as he said, “Why not?”

“I just-” Tommy considered telling the truth but instead in a quieter voice said- “I just don’t want to be alone.”

“What was that?” Ghostbur asked, not hearing Tommy’s statement.

“I just don’t want to be alone.”

“Oh. Okay,” the ghost said. “Why don’t we check out Logstedshire?”

Tommy shuffled and said, “Yeah. Sounds good.”

Small drops of rain began to drizzle on the beach as they turned back to enter the log-based structure. Ghostbur immediately raced inside the roofed area that he had just finished building as the rain burned his skin. Tommy stayed back a bit, enjoying the feeling of the freezing rain landing on his skin. He ran a hand through his hair and winced at how filthy it felt between his fingers.

The rain was beginning to dampen his wings and this made him pick up the pace. He really didn’t want a reminder of this morning, not to mention the fact that wet wings were a nuisance, to begin with. Days like these made him wish he had wings like Quackity, whose feathers were naturally water-resistant. He wouldn’t be able to fly super well, but it’s not like he did a lot of flying these days anyways.

Tommy raced into the open door of the newly constructed mini house and was immediately assaulted by the harsh scent of gunpowder. He had almost forgotten.

“Ghostbur, why does this whole place reek of TNT?” Tommy asked nervously. 

“Oh! That,” the ghost said while opening a trap door. “Is the revamped basement that Dream created out for you.”

Suspiciously, Tommy hopped down the trap door’s entrance while Ghostbur remained on the surface. 

His ‘secret’ storage area was certainly much bigger than before and the walls were ashen with residual explosive powder. The walls were also lined with torches, the area miraculously not catching fire the ample fuel surrounding the perimeter. The gunpowder scent was definitely stronger down here. Tommy had to cover his mouth and nose just to breathe.,

The very rickety chests Tommy had constructed were gone and replaced with new chests lining the furthermost wall. He felt extremely suspicious. Why would Dream willingly give him access to a private space with chests? Why didn’t he just explode Logstedshire?

“Well, what do you think?” Ghostbur prompted from above.

Tommy climbed up the ladder rungs and kicked the trap door shut, resolving to never use that new area. He didn’t need any more of Dream’s ‘gifts’.  
“It’s nice,” Tommy admitted. “But why did Dream do this?”

“He said he felt bad that you got hurt during his routine,” Ghostbur said. “He was in quite a state when he came and got me to keep an eye on you.”

“Dream,” the boy began incredulously. “Was in a state?”

At Ghostbur’s nod, Tommy asked, “Are we talking about the same guy?”

“Of course! Dream is your friend-” the winged boy felt stricken by this statement- “isn’t he?”

Rain began to hammer on the newly installed roofs. Tommy looked outside the windows to find puddles forming in the divots of this uneven plank flooring. He was suddenly very grateful for this shelter but felt embarrassed that he couldn’t build it himself. 

He sighed. Dream was… complicated, to say the least. One second he’s blowing up his things and holding a blade to his neck. The very next, he’s apparently his number one supporter and concerned for his health. Tommy never knew how Dream would react to any given situation. It was a constant game of hot and cold. 

“I don’t know,” Tommy said.

Surprisingly, Ghostbur nodded and said, “Yeah, I get that.”

“What do you mean?”

“People usually say the same thing about me.”

“Oh.”

Ghostbur seemed perfectly upbeat about this declaration, but Tommy couldn’t help but feel unsettled. His golden wings shuffled as he shifted his weight. He wanted to change this route of conversation. He already knew of people’s mixed feelings about Wilbur. Some were sympathetic and fondly remembered the Wilbur that was a general in the revolutionary war. Others were disgusted and said he was always slightly unhinged, just waiting for the perfect moment to snap. 

Both people were the reasons why Tommy shut himself in his house for the first couple of months after Wilbur’s death. He didn’t want the kind words of well-meaning citizens and friends offering condolences to the surviving brother. He equally didn’t want the jeers and remarks of people saying how he was ‘freed’ and how ‘he was finally safe’. He didn’t want any of that. He just didn’t want to think about it.

That wound had long since scarred over, but hearing that Ghostbur still dealt with prejudices about Wilbur made Tommy feel kinda sick. Was this how people treated their founders? As if exiling and disowning them wasn’t enough, they had to tarnish their legacy? Tommy wondered what kind of stories they were staying about him. Was he the grieving brother acting out in a fit of grief? Or was he the unhinged maverick, still stuck in the revolutionary war?

Tommy ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. He supposed that didn’t matter. He wasn’t dead. There was still plenty of time for him to cement his legacy.

“This house is very nice,” Tommy said.

“Thank you, Tommy,” Ghostbur said in an upbeat voice before shifting gears to a more serious tone. “Now, is there a reason you didn’t want me to leave?”

Great. One uncomfortable topic to another. Tommy just couldn’t win.

“Uh… No. Not really.”

“You know you could tell me, right? I’m your older brother!”

Or at least he was a husk of the man he used to be. Wilbur hadn’t been his older brother in a very long time. But, he was the only family he had. 

“I think I saw Technoblade,” Tommy confessed in a small voice.

“Techno?” Ghostbur asked in confirmation.

Tommy just nodded.

“Finally!” Ghostbur exclaimed. “I’ve been telling him to visit for weeks! How is he?”

All higher thought processing immediately ceased for the winged boy. His palms began to sweat and his wings began to flutter. He looked up subconsciously, hoping to find the sky but instead finding a solid wooden roof. Oh god, he was trapped-

He took a breath and reminded himself that he was safe and sheltered from the storm outside. That didn’t help his outrage, but his panic calmed slightly.

“What?!” Tommy shouted in a shrill manner. “What do you mean you’ve been telling him to visit?!”

“Well, he’s our brother! Of course, he should visit!”

“Ghostbur, you absolute idiot!” 

“Pardon?”

Tommy was now breathing very rapidly and beginning to pace in the very small wooden area. He needed some air. He couldn’t believe that Ghostbur was inviting a known terrorist into his territory. 

“What do you mean ‘pardon’?!” Tommy threw his hands in the air, biting inside of his cheek. “Technoblade hates me! He tried to kill me!”

“Why would he do that?” Ghostbur asked in a genuine manner. “You’re his brother!”

“I don’t know! Why would he betray us?!”

“He betrayed us?”

“Yes!”

The ghost began to look troubled as he said, “Did he? I don’t remember…”

“I don’t expect you would! It was the same day you-” Tommy cut off his rant and a pang of grief wracked through him. “I-It doesn’t matter.”

“Still,” Ghostbur said. “I don’t see why you don’t want him here.”

“I doubt he wants to be here.”

“That’s not true!”

“Isn’t it?”

No matter what Ghostbur said, Tommy knew what kind of person his ‘brother’ was. He would lie, cheat, steal, and stab however many people he needed to in order to get ahead. Techno would always do what his voices told him to. His voices wanted blood and so blood they shall receive. Techno himself told Tommy all about his struggles with the voices in his head. About them getting bored in Pogtopia. About their pressuring during the Festival. Tommy should have seen Techno’s betrayal from a mile away, but he was so obsessed with having his family back together that he ignored Wilbur’s insanity and Techno’s weakness.

Well, Tommy was not so naive anymore.

“Well, how was your visit?” Ghostbur asked in a pleasant manner.

Tommy huffed and said, “Oh, it was great.”

“Really?” his brother asked hopefully.

“Oh yeah. A real ball. I wasn’t even conscious the entire time,” Tommy said while Ghostbur blanched. Before the ghost could question what he meant, Tommy continued. “Yeah. Woke up in the middle of the ocean, passed out, then came to while being haphazardly thrown onto a beach with a health potion beside me.”

“Tommy…” Ghostbur trailed off with a guilty look.

“What do you look upset for?” Tommy asked. “You weren’t the one that threw me into the ocean.”

“Techno wouldn’t-”

“Wouldn’t he?”

That beat of hesitation was all that Tommy needed. Technoblade tried to drown him then felt some sick sense of remorse. Probably due to that ‘pack mentality’ those pigmen had. The winged boy knew he was being a bit hypocritical and more than a bit racist as a hybrid, but he didn’t care. Techno certainly didn’t care. Tommy’s optimism about his family only ever got him in trouble.

Phil was a broken and grieving man, too ashamed to face his family that he went and found a new one in L’Manberg. Techno was a bloodthirsty and untrustworthy traitor that was too self-absorbed with his own self-righteousness that he couldn’t look in the mirror. Wilbur was-

Ghostbur was-

Tommy stopped his train of thought. He didn’t really know what he was saying anyway. He already knew these things and there was no point in dwelling on it again.

“Tommy.” Ghostbur floated beside the boy and wrapped a cold wing and arm around him. Tommy wanted to shove him off, but was too desperate for any sort of contact that he let his brother stay. “I don’t know why you feel so strongly about Techno, but he is our brother. I trust him. I think you should too.”

“I already did,” Tommy replied. “Didn’t end too well.”

“Then give him a second chance! You gave me a second chance.”

“You’re different.”

Ghostbur gave him a sad look and Tommy sighed. He reluctantly agreed to give his estranged brother yet another chance. He could be cautious and go into it with all the wisdom he earned over the years, but he would try. Tommy just hoped Techno stayed away and the winged boy would never have to make good on his promise.

They didn’t talk a whole lot after that interaction. Rain could be heard clattering against the roof and windows. It was nice. After a while, Tommy sat on the ground and Ghostbur withdrew his old guitar from the chest and began to tune it. Once it had gotten to a point where he was satisfied, he began to play chords that sounded very familiar.

“White Christmas”. Tommy smiled and wrapped his golden wings around himself, his arms hugging his knees. He closed his eyes and could almost pretend he was back in the Antarctic Empire with Techno and Phil discussing trade and treaties while Wilbur played guitar by the fire. Christmas was never a super big deal during his childhood since it was perennially wintering in his native home. Not to mention the constant war and skirmishes that preoccupied them.

But in his neverending irony and spite, Wilbur made a point to learn every Christmas carol he could just to annoy Techno. He always played “White Christmas” the most because he wanted to poke fun at the fact that every day was a neverending white landscape. Tommy never wondered why anyone would have a white Christmas until he and Wilbur explored north, more towards the equator. That was the first Christmas that he went without constant snow. He didn’t exactly miss it but it was strange. 

Then, during the Revolution, during cold and harsh winters while holed up in their stalemating conflict, Wilbur would break out his guitar and softly play Christmas songs. Tommy, Fundy, Tubbo, and Eret formed a very rough quartet and sang along. It was all a ploy to keep morale up, but it was still nice.

When Wilbur was president, he hosted the first winter festival during his term and hosted a mini-concert of sorts. L’Manberg was still very small and only had a couple of dozen citizens, so they would gather around the L’Mantree and sing carols while Wilbur and Fundy played. Niki was the leading vocalist alongside Tubbo. Those days were good.

Wilbur didn’t play much during Pogtopia. 

The song finished and Ghostbur nudged Tommy with the body of his guitar. The winged boy had begun to doze off without realizing it. He blinked himself awake and shifted his wings and they began to fall asleep as well. He ruffled out the pins and needles.

“Christmas is coming soon,” Ghostbur said with a smile.

“Is that right?” Tommy asked with interest.

“Yeah! About a week or so from now. I see you have a Christmas tree,” the ghost noted.

“Yeah,” Tommy said, his smile falling slightly.

He wasn’t too excited for Christmas this year. The holiday never really meant a whole lot in the first place, but now, he didn’t even have anyone to celebrate it with. He was sure that Ghostbur was going to celebrate it with Phil and the rest of the L’Manbergians. None of his friends had a reason to visit the sad, emotionally unbalanced man that Tommy had become. Why should Christmas be any different?

“Well,” Tommy began in a cracked voice. “I hope you and Philza have fun. Give everyone my regards.”

“Actually, I was wondering if it’d be alright if Phil and I came?” Ghostbur asked. “Along with anyone else who wants to come, of course. I can bring you back a polaroid of the big tree and I actually have a very special gift for you!”

Tommy just huffed and said, “I doubt anyone wants to see me. Least of all Phil.”

“Why is that?” the ghost asked in genuine confusion. “Phil misses you greatly.”

“Really?” Tommy laughed, but it was a small and bitter thing. “He doesn’t show it very well.”

When Phil arrived in L’Manberg and murdered Wilbur, it was the first time Tommy had seen him in almost five years. As soon as L’Manberg was established, they never saw each other and never made the effort to visit. It was a mutual distance. Same with Technoblade. But then, the two got involved in L’Manberg and Pogtopia and everything changed. 

They finally had the means to see each other, but Phil never saw Tommy once. They were both grieving, but Phil was his father and never once made the effort. When Tommy was exiled, Phil was nowhere to be found. No words were exchanged. No sympathies. No regrets. He wasn’t even there when he was sent off. In fact, Phil paid more attention to Tubbo than his own son. His father made it abundantly clear where he stood and Tommy wanted nothing to do with a man that didn’t even care about him. At least Dream pretended-

Tommy shook his head. He would not think about Dream.

“I don’t fully remember what happened between us all, but I know Phil cares about you,” Ghostbur affirmed.

“Well, I’m glad you’re so certain,” Tommy responded sharply.

“What happened?”

“It’s more a matter of what didn’t happen.”

Ghostbur was clearly uncomfortable with this conversation. In life, Wilbur always had a tense relationship with Phil. Being the same age as Techno, he was expected to share the same passion for the Antarctic Empire, but he never did. He just wanted to be free to pursue whatever he wanted. Be that music, be that drugs, he didn’t care. He just wanted freedom while Phil wanted a leader. Thus, Wilbur ran away at a young age and Tommy followed him. Wil was always Tommy’s favorite. He wanted to be free of the Empire because he was largely a free spirit as well.

Once the Antarctic Empire disbanded, relations between Wilbur and Phil eased slightly. Tommy visited Phil and Techno in the more anarchist commune rather than a world-dominating empire. They grew closer as the years wore on, but once Wilbur began drafting the document declaring his independence from the SMP, Wil and Tommy were too busy to visit their family. Not to mention the fact that Techno and Phil were in direct opposition to their political ideologies. But, Phil encouraged Wilbur to show him that a government could be good. 

Needless to say, that encouragement didn’t end well.

But now that Wilbur was dead and the L’Manberg narrative was moving on from the original founders, Phil made an effort to get to know the side of the family he neglected. Ghostbur learned to trust and love Phil. Tommy never shared the sentiment.

Tommy sighed and listened to the rain pour outside, he peeked to see that night had fallen over Logstedshire. He had to admit, it was more comfortable inside the shelter than his tent. He would have to move his things into the room, but he would pointedly avoid Dream’s storage area. Tommy didn’t want anything of Dream’s. It only meant trouble.

Ghostbur began to mindlessly stum his guitar into shifting melodies and Tommy allowed himself to drift off. The knowledge that Techno was nearby made Tommy nervous, but he felt safer with his older brother around. Even if he was dead. Christmas was soon and despite himself, Tommy felt a thrill of excitement. Maybe this would be his turning point.

With that, Tommy fell asleep to the rain’s gentle thrumming and Ghostbur’s soft melodies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And exeunt. I am very happy with this chapter, once again. It gave me so much trouble in the beginning and calculus is really pulling a monopoly over my time, but I got this done. I was at about 5k this morning... then wrote almost 3k in a few hours. I am writing every single day, it's just that some days I write more than others. Today was one of those days.
> 
> Next chapter will be the Christmas chapter! A nice break in the midst of all this angst. If you would, please comment your favorite Christmas songs and if you have a particular character that you link with that song. I already have "The First Noel" for Philza based on someone in a Discord I'm in (please comment your ao3 name if you want recognition and I'll change this).
> 
> Anyways! I really hope you enjoy! I'm having fun <3 Happy one-month anniversary!!
> 
> As always, don't forget to hydrocheck and get adequate sleep.
> 
> Love you all <3


	8. The Compass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is finally Christmas and the day of Tommy's first party in Logstedshire. He is excited, but also more than a little nervous. With Ghostbur's help, however, he'll make it through alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! This chapter is significantly shorter than the last. A mere 5k. School has been absolutely insane and that is my defense. It's been hard to get up the energy to write, but as always, I got up and did it. I am pretty happy with it overall! Not too much trouble, but still, it gave me a bit of a fight in the beginning, as always. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

It was approximately a week later and Logstedshire had gotten exponentially colder. The wind bit through Wilbur’s old threadbare coat, whereas it had provided plenty of warmth just a few short days ago. The temperatures were not near as extreme as the deathly cold of the Antarctic Empire, where frostbite would onset mere minutes after being exposed, but Tommy had grown soft in the temperate climate of L’Manberg.

In L’Manberg, Tommy could just hole up in his house when it got too cold or he could enjoy the light dusting of snow they got on occasion. Winter storms were never harsh in his old home, but the winged boy fretted that Logstedshire wouldn’t be as forgiving. He left all his old winter clothes back in the Antarctic Empire, which was now abandoned. He didn’t have anything to protect himself from the cold.

This being said, Tommyinnit was no coward! He pulled Wilbur’s coat tighter around him and fluffed his feathers to create even a small amount of insulation.

He was determined to not let the cold get the best of him today! It was Christmas! Sure, it wasn’t his favorite time of year, but he was feeling good that today would be his turning point. Starting today, he would get more visitors. Starting today, he would be more emotionally stable. Starting today, he would begin his plan to return home.

Determinedly, Tommy turned away from the ocean and returned to Logstedshire where he saw a green cloaked man stringing colorful lights around the perimeter wall. That man was the one drawback of today.

“Hey, Dream,” Tommy called out. “You about done?”

The masked man looked over at the winged boy and Tommy subconsciously shrunk back before straightening his shoulders once more. Dream would never cease to make him nervous.

“Yeah, just about,” the masked man responded while Tommy cautiously approached him.

The wind was much less harsh within the walls of Logstedshire and so Tommy allowed himself to relax. Everything felt almost peaceful. Dream swore a singular day’s peace from his usual routine, a routine that Tommy made sure to keep his distance from after he burst his eardrums.

The whole of his temporary home looked cheerful with the twinkling lights against the dark and cloudy skies above. Tommy hoped that it wouldn’t rain again. It had been drizzling on and off for the past couple of days, making visits from Ghostbur rather difficult, but they normally just holed up in Tommy’s little home while they waited for the rain to pass. 

Tommy had long since moved into his tiny home, his cot replaced by an actual bed courtesy of Ghostbur. His ender chest and jukebox were also pushed snug against the far wall. There wasn’t much room, but there was more than enough for Tommy. Still, he missed his hobbit-hole back in the SMP.

“Tommy,” Dream said, snapping the boy out of his thoughts.

The boy in question merely looked to the masked man and twitched his wings in acknowledgment. 

“Do you remember the rules?” the tyrant asked testily.

“Of course,” Tommy replied. “You’ve been repeating them for about a week now.”

Ever since Ghostbur accidentally spilled to Dream about their plans for Christmas, the tyrant made a series of rules that he had been grilling into Tommy. They were fairly straightforward and obvious, but that didn’t make them any less annoying. It’s not like he didn’t know these things already.

“Recite them.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

Dream sighed and said, “It’s Christmas. Could you please cooperate for this one day?”

“I dunno,” Tommy said cheekily. “Last time I cooperated, you shattered my eardrums.”

“I did not! You did that yourself!”

“Because of your TNT!”

“Tommy,” Dream warned in a low tone. “Don’t test me.”

The winged boy raised his arms in the air in mock surrender.

“Right, right,” Tommy said. “Don’t want to trample on your ego.”

“Tommy.”

A gloved hand barely twitched and that alone made Tommy nearly jump out of his skin. He didn’t want to end up on the receiving end of that axe again. It was not a very pleasant experience. He subconsciously rubbed the spot on his neck which had long since healed and faded away to nothing.

He snapped his hand away when he noticed Dream tilting his head, as though he were considering new information. He wouldn’t give the tyrant the satisfaction of knowing he was even slightly unnerved.

Tommy sighed and said, “Rule one, no L’Manberg. Rule two, all gifts will be inspected the following day. Rule three, do not leave Logstedshire.”

“Exactly,” Dream replied. “Thank you for cooperating.”

“Yup. Always a pleasure,” Tommy said derisively.

Dream was probably expecting Tommy to be dumb and use his already made storage area to hide things away, but he wasn’t that stupid. No, Tommy was planning on breaking rule two from the start. Just because his original room was discovered didn’t mean that he would be so careless the next time. It didn’t escape Tommy’s attention how the tyrant would inspect the storage area each time he thought the boy wasn’t looking. Well, Tommy always had an eye on Dream.

“When do you expect people to start arriving?” Dream asked.

Tommy shrugged. He really didn’t know. Ghostbur didn’t exactly relay the finer details, but he knew the ghost normally showed up around sunset. Tommy was really hoping that his brother visited sooner. He didn’t want to spend a second longer with Dream than he had to.

“Well,” Dream began. “I’m on a bit of a tight schedule today so I’ll have to get going soon.”

“What? Why?” Tommy asked with a nervous twitch of his wings.

He really didn’t want Dream to stay, but he also didn’t want to be alone. Tommy structured his time so that there was always someone with him at Logstedshire. When Dream left, Ghostbur came. When Dream arrived in the morning, Ghostbur left. He was never alone. He figured Techno would stay away if he had company.

Dream gave a surprised huff as he said, “Do you want me to stay?”

“Well-” Tommy stuttered. “I mean-”

“I know it’s Christmas, Tommy,” the tyrant approached the boy and placed a hand on his shoulder. The boy cringed and flared his wings. “But, I have to visit my sister. I’m sorry.”

“Do you think you could bring Drista to visit?” Tommy asked nervously before backpedaling. “I mean! Only until Ghostbur arrives! Shouldn’t be very long at all!”

There was a stiff silence once Tommy finished his nervous rant. Dream was quiet and the winged boy would practically hear him thinking. Even more disconcerting, the tyrant didn’t lift his hand. In fact, he only tightened his grip so that Tommy couldn’t shrug it off. He felt as though he were under intense scrutiny.

“Is there a reason you don’t want to be alone?” Dream asked, tightening his hand slightly.

“What?”

“Is there perhaps someone you don’t want to be alone with?” the tyrant pressed.

Tommy shrunk back. Should he tell Dream about Techno? There was really no point to. Maybe he’d get the protection he wanted or maybe he’d get tighter restrictions. Who really knew how the tyrant would react. Tommy elected to stay silent, avoiding eye contact and shifting his wings. Nothing bad could come of holding his tongue. Either Dream already knew and the winged boy would avoid being caught in the lie or Dream didn’t know and nothing would have to change.

Truth be told, Tommy wanted things to change, but the only change he wanted was the only kind he could bring about himself. Dream only brought bad things and nothing more. But, at least his skill with an axe could rival Techno’s skill with a sword. Tommy wondered when that became a comfort rather than a nightmare.

“I already know,” Dream said.

“Know what?” Tommy asked in a disinterested tone.

“I know you’ve seen Technoblade,” Dream said and Tommy stiffened. There it was. 

Now, Tommy was certain that the tyrant would accuse him of conspiring against him. He just waited for the hand to tighten and a blade to be leveled to his neck, but much to Tommy’s shock, that did not happen. Instead, Dream loosened his grip and sighed. The boy ruffled his stiff feathers in surprise.

“I’m sorry,” the tyrant said in a breathy tone. “Before I brought you here, I had no idea Techno was nearby.”

“Wait, nearby?” Tommy interjected with haste. “Just how nearby are we talking?”

Dream carelessly waved a hand to the northeast while saying, “About two biomes that way.”

“Oh.”

Fear flooded Tommy’s veins at once. If he knew that he was so close to his estranged brother all this time, he would have packed up his things and ran a long while ago. Once Techno decides to kill someone, that was it. They would be gone before they realized what was happening. He’d seen it happen before. He was once in awe of the man’s determination.

Now, all he felt was dread.

But this now posed a more interesting question. If Techno lived so close by, why did he wait until just a week ago to make an appearance? Surely, he knew. After all, Ghostbur told him presumably since the beginning, much to Tommy’s dismay. So if visiting Tommy was not an arduous journey and if Tommy was so vulnerable, then why was he still alive? What game was Techno playing?

His thoughts were interrupted as Dream suddenly cut in and said, “I really have to be going now.”

“Wait! But-”

Dream held out a hand as he began to walk out of Logstedshire. 

“I’ll hail Ghostbur and tell him to hurry up if you really feel this insecure,” the tyrant assured.

Tommy wrung his hands together and fluttered his wings nervously. In a last-ditch effort to convince Dream that leaving him was a terrible idea, he said, “What if Techno comes again?”

The tyrant stopped and turned around to face Tommy.

“I’m sure you know this, but if Techno wanted you dead-” Dream tapped a crack in his mask- “then you wouldn’t be standing right now.”

Tommy wanted to interject once more and declare that he didn’t know why Techno was keeping him alive. Having his brother know where he was, but never making an appearance was somehow more unnerving than being hunted. He felt like there was always a pair of eyes just staring at him, watching with no real reason.

Before he got the chance to say anything, Dream had already said “Merry Christmas” and disappeared from view. Tommy was alone. Instantly, he began to panic. The Christmas lights that surrounded him almost seemed to be mocking him. Subconsciously, he looked to the sky and felt slightly more secure. A bit of blue was beginning to break through the clouds and he could see the heavy wall of water vapor begin to march across the sky.

Maybe today would end up being a nice day after all.

His thoughts didn’t get the chance to begin their spiral before he heard a wonderfully familiar voice call out from behind the walls.

“Tommy!” Ghostbur called out, muffled against the wind and oak logs. “Tommy, come out here. I have a surprise!”

“Coming, Ghostbur!” Tommy replied with a smile on his face.

His brother had been going on and on about this ‘surprise’ ever since he first brought up Christmas. Tommy probably would have forgotten this holiday were it not for him and he was grateful. Now that Dream was gone and Ghostbur was here, it felt like a much-needed reprieve.

Trying to push Technoblade out of his mind, Tommy raced out of Logstedshire Proper with a giddy sort of excitement. As he rounded the corner and turned towards the nether portal, he saw Ghostbur standing there in his trademark yellow sweater. His brown wings were folded neatly behind him, as they always were. His signature guitar was strapped under his wings and around his back.

“Merry Christmas,” Ghostbur said fondly as Tommy crushed the phantom in a hug.

Feeling happier than he had in weeks, Tommy said, “Merry Christmas.”

He felt a sort of crushing relief as he felt safe in his brother’s arms. Tommy’s wings relaxed in their fold. The embrace was cold and the only thing that offered any physical sensation was the acoustic guitar, but he pretended. He was getting good at pretending. He imagined his knotting against the soft, yellow fabric of his sweater. He imagined the scent of redwoods and the slight tinge of gunpowder. Grief panged throughout Tommy. He didn’t realize how lonely he was until he was trying to imagine Ghostbur as an alive human being.

Far too soon, Tommy broke apart from Ghostbur, not wanting to seem needy or clingy. After all, he was a big man! He didn’t need his brother. He didn’t need anyone!

“So! What’s this gift you keep going on about,” Tommy asked casually.

Excitement simmered within the winged boy, making his wings twitch subconsciously. He was trying to play it cool, but he hadn’t received a gift from his family in so long. Sure, he got things from Puffy, Ranboo, Bad, and Eret, but those were just pity gifts. If Ghostbur got him something, he knew it would be genuine.

He thought back to his childhood. Techno and Phil were never big gift-givers, but Wilbur always got into the giving spirit. When Tommy was just a boy, his older brother had bought him a guitar so he could try his hand at music, but he was never much of a guitar man. He dabbled piano once or twice, but never really kept up with it like Fundy did. The guitar aside, Wilbur always got Tommy things that would actually mean something. Sometimes it was to make him laugh, sometimes it was to remind him of something, and other times it was a gift for gift giving’s sake. 

Wilbur stopped giving much of anything in Pogtopia.

Tommy was always terrible at receiving gifts and more often than not tried to refuse them, but nowadays, he was desperate for any reminders of home. Even if they were for pity.

“Yes! Of course,” Ghostbur said, breaking Tommy out of his reverie. “So, a few weeks ago, I noticed you were pretty upset.”

The winged boy nodded reluctantly, not particularly liking where this was going. Surely his brother didn’t pity him like everyone else did.

“And so I thought to myself, well what does Tommy like? What does Tommyinnit like more than anything?”

“L’Manberg,” the boy responded quietly.

“A very good guess, but not quite.”

Tommy didn’t particularly want anything that wasn’t L’Manberg. Even his discs, the things that at one point were his everything, didn’t seem to matter much in the fact of everything. Cat? Mellohi? They’re articles of history, sure, but they’re just discs. Who cares about the historical significance in the face of all that he’d lost.

Still, Ghostbur clearly wanted him to continue guessing and so, Tommy humored him.

“I dunno,” Tommy said. “My discs?”

“Not quite, but you’re on the right track,” Ghostbur said. “Any other guesses?”

Briefly, his mind shifted to Tubbo and he could swear that he saw a figure in the distance, standing there on the frostbitten grass with their eyes shielded beneath the brim of a familiar tricorn hat. Tommy knew it was Tubbo even from this distance with his windswept brown hair and youthful face.

Tommy sighed. This wasn’t the first time he had seen the young boy out of the corner of his eyes. 

The first time it had happened, it was in the nether. His best friend was standing in the nether hub that led to L’Manberg. It was logical enough. Maybe he had gone to visit him and didn’t know where to go! But as Tommy approached the boy, he fizzled out into a cloud of ash and smoke. At first, Tommy thought he had just barely missed him. He waited by that portal for hours until Ghostbur found him and escorted him back home. 

Since then, Tubbo’s appearance became an almost daily occurrence, but he was never real enough to touch. Never real enough to beg to come home. He was just never real.

The ghost beside him, who had been patiently awaiting an answer, looked at him with eyes narrowed in concern. An ice-hold hand upon his shoulder jolted Tommy back to reality. He’d been spacing out quite a bit recently, he realized with a spark of concern. He couldn’t honestly say he remembered much of the past few days. Just a cold and meaningless blue.

“No, I’m sorry,” Tommy said after a while. “I can’t really think of anything.”

Ghostbur’s concern clearly grew and the winged boy was about to snap at him for it, but then the ghost’s demeanor almost entirely changed as he released Tommy and faced him with a great smile on his face.

“Come on, Tommy!” Ghostbur exclaimed. “The thing that Tommyinnit likes more than anything is-”

His ghostly brother had clearly been expecting a response from Tommy as he gestured wildly for him to fill in the gaps but didn’t really have an answer to give. What did Tommy want these days that wasn’t his home? A nice, warm bed to sleep in. Glowing lanterns floating above his head in the late hours. Christmas carols being sung by the citizens around the white house. Lights adorning every surface. A sort of careless cheer in the air as the temperature dropped and snow began to fall.

Tommy huffed a bitter yet fond laugh, his breath warm against the cold wind. 

“Tubbo!” Ghostbur exclaimed once he realized he wouldn’t get a response. “Who is Tommyinnit without his Tubbo?!”

Upon hearing his best friend’s name being stated, Tommy froze and his wings flared instinctually. At the very sound of his name, a surge of longing and hope threatened to overwhelm the winged boy.

He missed Tubbo more than he bargained for. He saw the brunette in the corners of his eyes, within the trees, in his dreams… he was always there, but always disappeared. The phantom in the trees stared back at him from the dark oak forest beyond him. 

“Tubbo...” Tommy said in a choked voice. “Is he-” the winged boy paused, not knowing if he wanted an answer- “Is he going to be here?”

Ghostbur’s voice went all high pitch as he said, “I don’t know, maybe.”

“Right,” Tommy said in a resigned manner. He knew what that tone meant.

Curiously, the phantom in the woods did not disappear. He continued to stare. Tommy wanted to leave Ghostbur and inspect the painfully familiar figure in the distance, but he didn’t think he could handle the disappointment. Not to mention that his brother didn’t need another reason to be concerned.

“But!” Ghostbur exclaimed as he began to rifle through his inventory. “I have the next best thing.”

“The next best thing?”

“Correct!”

As the ghost said this, he withdrew his hands from his inventory and held out a brass compass with a simple chain looped around the top. It didn’t look like anything special, but thanks to his experience with being around enchantments, Tommy could tell there was something intensely magical about it. It almost whispered to him. It felt powerful and sacred. Truthfully, it was a little unnerving to be around.

“Ghostbur, what is-” Tommy began, but the words died on his tongue.

The pale brunette took Tommy’s callused hand and placed the compass in his palm. He closed his fingers around the metal and stared at it. Oddly enough, the brass didn’t feel cold in his grasp though the frigid chain bit into his skin. It served as a testament to the sheer enchanting power within the small vessel. He could feel the warm power thrumming through his arm. What god did Ghostbur have to kill to get his hands onto this? And what did it have to do with Tubbo?

“This is a Lodestone Compass,” Ghostbur said. “It took a lot of fiddling with and was very expensive, but with Phil’s help, I was able to get it working.”

“What does this have to do with Tubbo?” Tommy questioned, ignoring the fact that Phil had any part in this.

“Open it,” the ghost responded while gesturing to a clasp that would lift the brass shell.

With slight hesitation, Tommy flicked the bit of metal and the top sprung open. He ran a thumb over the engraving on the interior of the lid. “Your Tubbo”. He smiled. It really just looked like an ordinary compass with an engraving, but that didn’t explain why Ghostbur didn’t just get him a necklace and why it was so heavily enchanted. Maybe Unbreaking IV could explain it, but why go through all that effort for a compass?

But then he realized that the needle was not pointing north. Instead, it was pointing to the east.

“Ghostbur,” Tommy began. “It’s a lovely compass and I am grateful, but I think it’s busted.”

“Oh no! Really?” he asked in concern. 

“Yeah.” Tommy showed the compass to the ghost, not wanting to let it go despite the malfunction. “It doesn’t even point north.”

“Oh! That’s the purpose!” Ghostbur said cheerfully.

“To not function?”

“No no no, silly,” Ghostbur said. “It points to Tubbo!”

Upon closer inspection, Tommy realized that the needle was firm in its point. He twisted one way, then twisted to the other, and the needle kept pointing east. It kept pointing home. Tommy felt a longing to follow the compass, ocean be damned, just to catch a glimpse of L’Manberg. Just to catch a glimpse of his Tubbo. 

He looked up into the forest, where the phantom in a revolutionary getup continued staring ominously. Tommy looked down at the compass and found it still pointing east, away from the figure. Before his eyes, the phantom disappeared and scattered in the wind. He felt a pang of loss. Every time he saw that shadow of Tubbo, he felt hopeful. And every time, his hope was shattered as it left him.

Tommy twitched his wings and tightened his grip on the compass. At least now he had something tethering him to the real Tubbo. He slipped the compass over his neck and vowed to never lose it.

“I know you really miss him,” Ghostbur said as he offered his younger brother a sympathetic glance. “But at least now, no matter where you are in this realm, you’ll know where he is.”

The winged boy was truly beyond words for how grateful he was. For weeks, he’d been searching for something, for anything to tie him back to Tubbo somehow. He didn’t care how and he didn’t care what it was, but he needed Tubbo like he needed to breathe. Tommy didn’t realize how important the boy, his brother, was until he lost him.

Just like his wings, Tommy had a penchant for taking things for granted. He didn’t realize the true worth of things until they were gone. This truth goes for Wilbur, Phil, Techno, Tubbo, and almost every significant person in his life. He lost Wil in Pogtopia, long before he died. He lost Phil when he joined L’Manberg. He lost Techno around the same time. Tubbo? Well, that’s just the newest scar along with the ones on his back.

“Will Tubbo be here today?” Tommy asked in a spark of desperation. “Did you ask him?”

His brother immediately looked uncomfortable as he said, “Ranboo said he’d tell him.”

“Oh,” Tommy said, slightly more down-crested. “Will Ranboo be here?”

“Of course!” Ghostbur said. “Along with Fundy, Puffy, Sam, and Jack! Eret might be there, but you know him, always busy.”

The two brothers continued to chatter about their Christmas party plans until they reached Logstedshire Proper. Anytime Tommy tried to ask about Quackity, Tubbo, Niki, or any other members of L’Manberg, Ghostbur would immediately deflect and talk about the lights that Dream set up or comment on the Christmas tree outside. Eventually, Tommy got the point. Some people just didn’t want to be around him, but oddly enough, it wasn’t the people that he expected.

He fully expected Ranboo to at least be avoidant of him. Sure, they kept up with their correspondence, but Tommy couldn’t help but feel a wall around the hybrid. Fundy didn’t really like him from the start. Since the early days of L’Manberg, when Wilbur refused to look upon the fox as an equal, there was a lot of resentment. Tommy was younger than Fundy yet he was given more responsibility as the Secretary of State. 

Tommy wasn’t super surprised that Puffy was coming, after all, she was always rather kind. He just hoped that he wouldn’t ruin her optimistic outlook. His negativity was contagious these days. He never got the chance to know Sam super well, but he knew that he was an idealist, much like Wilbur, but more stable. He always felt pretty safe. Then there was Jack Manifold, one of L’Manberg’s first few immigrants. Ranboo hinted that Jack would be trying to reach out now that Manifold Land was more or less secure.

The winged boy sighed as he continued stringing lights around Logstedshire. He figured he was about done as he was struggling to find empty spaces. The walls were completely lined with lights of all varying colors. These were the same lights that they used to string up around the walls of L’Manberg. They were once integral to the holiday season, but they were now just spare parts. Much like Tommy himself had become.

Tommy shook his head and banished the thought. He wasn’t a spare! Just a little misplaced. He’d find his way back home and today was his turning point. Tommy wrapped a hand around the compass that hung on his neck. He was sure that L’Manberg was waiting for him.

“Hey, Ghostbur,” Tommy called out. “When do you expect people to start arriving?”

The ghost, who had been setting up a smaller bush on the inside to be an interior tree, looked up to him with a thoughtful expression. 

“I’d assume around this evening,” Ghostbur responded.

Tommy glanced at the sky and saw that the clouds hadn’t parted enough to reveal the sun, but they were slowly clearly. For the first time in days, it would not rain, however, he was cursing at the sky as it gave no indication as to when people would arrive. Today might actually be his turning point! He was horribly impatient.  
Groaning in impatience, Tommy ambled over to his little house and checked the clock that hung next to the door. Sunset wouldn’t be for another couple of hours. Anxious energy began to build within Tommy. What if no one showed up? What if he got angry again? What if he scares someone off?

He began to tap his foot against the wooden planks. Just sitting here was making him go stir crazy. He was perfectly fine to sit and wait for almost a week, but now that his party was just a few hours away, he couldn’t control himself. His mind kept jumping to worst-case scenarios of people being unsatisfied and leaving, or worse yet, people not arriving at all. 

Tommy stretched his wings and was hit with a pang as a bit of wind ruffled his feathers. He was struck by the sudden urge to just take off and fly. He looked up to the overcast sky with a sense of desperation. He was doing well these past few weeks with ignoring his wing situation, but during times like these, he wanted nothing more than to fly away. Flying always helped to clear his head. Briefly, he wondered if the reason he was so emotionally unstable was because he couldn’t fly.

Fingers tightened around a brass compass, causing already pale and callused joints to whiten with the pressure. The cold metal of the chain shifted against his neck, making its presence known as the cold bit into his skin once more. He shivered as he began to pace the floor.

“Tommy, don’t worry,” Ghostbur said, noticing his brother’s anxiety. “Everything will be fine!”

The boy threw his hands in the air and shouted, “How do you know that?! I haven’t seen these people in weeks, Ghostbur! Literal weeks!”

He didn’t notice his brother gliding next to him until a chilling hand was placed on his shoulder. Despite himself, he leaned into the cold touch.

“Tommy,” Ghostbur said. “Don’t worry so much. It’s bad for your health.”

“Yeah, well, a lot of things are bad for my health these days,” Tommy said bitterly.

“Have some blue,” the ghost said while removing Tommy’s hand from the compass and placing blue powder in his palm. “Calm yourself.”

The winged boy moved the powder between his fingers, watching his skin being stained a cerulean blue. He took deep breaths and reminded himself that today, everything would be fine. Today was his turning point because today he had things he never had before. He had a compass that tethered him to Tubbo. He had an opportunity to talk and interact with others aside from Dream and a ghost. He had hope, opportunity, and a chance. That’s more than he’s had in weeks.

“Right,” Tommy said quietly. “You’re right-” he straightened his shoulders and clenched his blue hand into a fist- “today will be a good day.”

“That’s the spirit,” Ghostbur praised. “Why don’t you come to help me decorate the little tree?”

Thankful that he finally had something else to do, Tommy followed the ghost over to a small bush in the center of Logstedshire. It was a pitiful Christmas tree if he ever saw one, but he had a bigger and brighter one outside. Besides, it reminded him of the Antarctic Empire. Nothing really grew that far south and at that altitude, so for Tommy’s first few Christmases, Phil would bring home a shrub and dress it up in ornaments and lights. The poor thing was always more decorations than tree, but it was nice.

It didn’t take very long for the small shrub to be completely decked out in holiday cheer. It would only be a couple more hours before guests began arriving and Tommy’s anxiety was returning a bit, but Ghostbur helped him keep it at bay by engaging in meaningless conversation. Wilbur always knew what to do when Tommy was getting overwhelmed. He missed his older brother, but he was learning to be okay with Ghostbur. It only took exile for Tommy to begin healing from his grief. He could almost laugh at the irony.

The two boys were about to begin preparing for the actual guests to arrive in the form of setting out food and seating arrangements, but a knock could be heard on the oak walls of Logstedshire.

“Hello?” a faintly familiar voice called out, sounding very unsure. “Is Tommy out here?”

The winged boy in question turned with Ghostbur with a curious and faintly anxious expression. His wings fluttered nervously behind him.

“Isn’t it a bit early?” Tommy asked in a high pitch. He cleared his throat. “I mean, you said the evening, right?”

Ghostbur nodded and said, “Yeah. They shouldn’t be here for another hour or so.”

With a bit of a nervous laugh, Tommy withdrew an iron sword from his inventory and hesitantly made his way to the entrance. 

He didn’t really recognize the voice. He knew for certain it wasn’t Ranboo or Fundy since he’d known the hybrids for quite some time and had seen them not too long ago, but he also knew it definitely wasn’t Puffy as the voice was much more masculine. Tommy supposed it might be Jack Manifold, but that still didn’t sound quite right.

An anxious part of his mind whispered that it was Techno coming to finish the job he failed but immediately shook his head. That was ridiculous. He knew Techno’s voice almost better than he knew his own. It was ingrained into his mind and he knew for a fact that the mystery man was not his estranged brother.

His thoughts continued to spiral into anxious and, frankly insane, ramblings, but he kept them at bay by reminding himself that Ghostbur was right behind him. He had a backup and had no reason to face this alone. He would be fine. Today was his turning point.

As Tommy rounded the corner of the Logstedshire entrance and traced the perimeter to the sidewall which led to the nether portal, he was faced with a man he had only seen fleetingly around the SMP. Usually accompanied by Bad or Sapnap.

Standing before him was a siamese cat hybrid with bright blue eyes. His black-tipped tail was twitching awkwardly and he refused to make eye-contact. In his hands was a rope that connected to an even stranger sight. A leather halter was fitted around a red and white bull calf.

Tommy wasn’t sure if he had ever seen anything more strange. Despite the hybrid’s unique appearance, he could not place a name that fit the man though he was sure that he had seen him before.

He didn’t recognize the man until Ghostbur jovially said, “Antfrost!”, behind him.

Instantly, Tommy was struck with recognition.

Yeah, he remembered Antfrost. His grip on his sword tightened incrementally and his wings began to flare, but he forced himself to remain calm. Today was his turning point and he would not ruin it by lashing out at the hybrid, even though he wanted to desperately. 

“Antfrost,” Tommy greeted coolly.

“Hi, Tommy,” the hybrid responded with a nervous twitch of his ear. “Wilbur.”

“It’s Ghostbur, actually,” the ghost corrected with a smile.

“Right-” Antfrost cleared his throat- “Ghostbur.”

Relations between Tommy and Antfrost were always a little tight. This was mostly due to the fact that Tommy didn’t meet the cat hybrid until Pogtopia, otherwise known as the darkest point in his life. Perhaps his exile was a close second, so it was appropriate that Ant would make another appearance at this point in time.

Antfrost was a member of Pogtopia for a short amount of time before the tensions got too high and he jumped ship. In Tommy’s mind? He was a coward. No wonder he was being shifty and refusing to make eye contact. He was probably ashamed to face the winged boy again. Good, Tommy thought with satisfaction. He refolded his wings and sheathed his sword, still resting a hand on the hilt, but more for intimidation than a true threat.

Tommy wasn’t super thrilled about Antfrost showing up and crashing his party, but he supposed he should pretend to be amiable. Today was his turning point and he’d be damned if some cat was going to ruin it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright alright alright! Chapter 8, done! Also, 50k pog!! I've done it! Half way to my goal of 100k and we're still only in the introductory phases of this. Can you imagine that my original plan to have this fic end around 60k? I could not imagine this fic ending below 100k nowadays if the first 8 chapters are already 50k.
> 
> At first, I wanted Philza to make an appearance in this chapter, but it just didn't feel right. I can't do you dirty with a half backed introduction to a major character in this fic so I'm afraid he'll have to wait and play in the background while Tommy goes through his exile arc. Once he decides he's done with that, then this fic can share the limelight. Before then, I just can't do it. It feels cheap and you deserve better.
> 
> As always, it was beta'd by the lovely violet_sunflowers. Wonderful human being as always, though they've been bullying me for not being able to write fluff. I can't deny it though. My fluff attempts end up more bitter than anything. Whoops! Lol. I am trying my hardest to make the Christmas party next chapter a nice warm fluff chapter (with angst around the edges, because I just have to).
> 
> Also, I've created a Tumblr blog for this fic! Here you can ask any questions, discuss the fic with me, or really anything! I wanna get to know you all because I am on this journey just as much as all of you. I'll also be posting random things while I write and stuff like that. Mostly me complaining about how I have 30 drafts, but only 8 chapters. I wish I was kidding. Anyways! Here's the link: (https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ancientdeecyphers). Hope to see you there! Feel free to say hello. Quarantine is slowly driving me mad, lol.
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoyed this fic. Please make sure to drink water and get enough rest. <3


	9. The Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As guests start arriving, Tommy is feeling good. Maybe today will be a nice day after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. 12k words. I guess that's what happens when you leave me in a house in the middle of a winter storm with just enough connection to write. My power's been off intermittently throughout writing this and I hope it posts soon. 
> 
> There are many characters here that I have rarely watched and have never written! Puffy, Jack, and Antfrost included. I hope I did them justice.
> 
> I promised fluff and I think I delivered! Though maybe a smidge too much... Regardless, I had fun writing this and I hope you have fun reading it!

“So, Antfrost,” Tommy said with a slightly condescending tone. “What brings you to Logstedshire? Here for the party?”

The cat hybrid brought up a spare hand and scratched his chin, still avoiding eye contact. The tension was still pretty high even though Tommy wasn’t armed and Ghostbur wandered off to avoid whatever conflict would arise, muttering something about needing to finish decorating. He didn’t intend to fight anyone today, however. Today was his turning point! But just because today was meant to be his day didn’t mean he had to be nice. He was still Tommyinnit.

Antfrost sighed and said in slight exasperation, “No. I’m here on behalf of the Badlands. Strictly business.”

“C’mon, Ant!” Tommy cajoled. “It’s Christmas!”

“Yeah, but we’ve only spoken like twice?” Ant replied. In a quieter and offhand way, he added, “Most of those times I was your slave anyways.”

At that comment, Tommy scoffed and felt slightly affronted. He did a great many things in his life that he wasn’t particularly proud of, but enforcing longterm slavery? That wasn’t really his style. This being said, he knew what Ant was referring to. Back in Pogtopia, he and Wilbur were desperate for any hands that might be able to help them in reclaiming L’Manberg. The winters were harsh in that ravine and them being avian hybrids, they were slowly going mad while in the mines. 

They slaved away for weeks in that mine without making any progress and Technoblade grew sick of it. The piglin hybrid recruited Antfrost and immediately stuck him in the mines with an enchanted pickaxe and rarely offered him breaks. Tommy fought against it at first, but Wilbur beat into his head that it was a means to an end. That it would all be justified once they reclaimed L’Manberg.

It was never really justified, in the end, but Tommy couldn’t forgive Antfrost for just abandoning them.

“Hey,” Tommy warned. “It wasn’t slavery.”

Antfrost waved a hand in the air and said in a rehearsed tone, “Yeah, just unpaid labor without any benefits.”

“Exactly!” the winged boy praised.

“God, you are and your brothers are the exact same,” Ant said under his breath.

Once again, Tommy felt quite offended by this statement. His wings flared despite himself and overall, seeing Antfrost just put him in a bad mood. It was Christmas and yet the cat hybrid wasn’t feeling very generous at all. Just like his brothers? Tommy knew he was in a bit of a rough spot, but he certainly wasn’t hearing any voices or rigging the nearest civilization with explosives.

Tommy was suddenly reminded of who’s jacket he was wearing. It still smelled faintly of gunpowder intermingled with the musk of redwoods. He pulled it tighter over himself. In this patchwork trench coat and with his messy, tousled hair, he knew exactly who he must’ve looked like. Not to mention his immediate reaction to Antfrost being to draw his iron sword… Yeah, Tommy bore a much closer resemblance to his brothers than he anticipated.

He wanted to fight back against the accusation, but he had nothing to say that could disprove Ant’s statement.

“Listen, I didn’t mean to offend you,” Ant said in what almost sounded like an apology.

Tommy didn’t dignify him with a response. He simply shrugged and decided to shift the conversation. It was easier to deflect than to fight.

“So what’s the cow about?” Tommy asked, gesturing to the bull calf who was practically asleep.

Something seemed to click in Antfrost when the cow was mentioned, almost as though he forgot about the beast he was leading. He really was the worst possible delegate that the Badlands could have sent. He wasn’t even a neutral party. Antfrost had direct negative experiences with Tommy and it definitely would ruin both of their Christmases to spend it in one another’s presence.

“Right!” Ant said with an ear flicking towards the cow. “This is a gift on behalf of the Badlands. I was supposed to give it to you. A Christmas gift, I guess.”

“Okay, that’s fine. But why you and why a cow?”

The cat hybrid shrugged in an exasperated way and said, “No clue! Ask Bad. I’m just the messenger.”

Antfrost handed the bull’s lead to Tommy, who took it with a confused frown. The red and white cow was probably a native to a mushroom biome, since the cows around the plains area were mostly black. He was sporting an overgrown red swath of bangs above his horns which hung down and almost covered his eyes. Tommy tilted his head. He supposed the bull was kinda cute.

“What am I supposed to do with him?” Tommy asked.

“It’s up to you, I suppose,” Ant said before turning his back to Tommy and began to walk to the nether portal. “Keep it, kill it, eat it. I don’t think it matters one way or the other.”

“What?!” Tommy exclaimed. “Kill him? What kind of monster do you think I am?”

“The kind that griefs and burns down an innocent’s home.” Ant deadpanned, turning his head so his profile was visible.

The winged boy shifted awkwardly at that statement. He couldn't say anything to refute his actions regarding the arson without outing Ranboo. The enderman hybrid wouldn’t be able to survive exile. If Ranboo was to be exiled, he would have no hope of returning since he has no history with any of the members. At least Tommy was a founding member. If anyone had a chance of returning, it was him. After all, he came back before.

And so, Tommy stayed silent. He made no attempt to sway Antfrost to his side. It’s not like the siamese had any political pull over L’Manberg anyways. He believed he already had the Badlands' support, since Bad sympathized with his struggle. This was the second gift the faction had given him since the beginning of exile. He was in good standing. He didn’t need Antfrost.

Still, there was a very important matter he needed to attend to.

“Wait, Ant!” Tommy shouted, making the cat bristle and turn to face him, claws outstretched.

“What?! I’ve been trying to leave for the past five minutes.”

“What’s the cow’s name?”

Antfrost sighed and said, “Really?”

“Well, yeah,” Tommy said. “He’s the newest member of Logstedshire. He deserves a proper name.”

“Whatever,” Antfrost said. “Sapnap called him ‘Mushroom Henry’-”

“What?! That bastard!” Tommy interjected, but Ant kept talking anyways.

“-I didn’t get the joke, but he said you’d appreciate it.”

The winged boy was seething. He was almost at a loss for words. Who in their right mind would let Sapnap anywhere within five feet of a living, breathing creature? That man had a larger pet kill count than anyone on the server combined. Of course his new friend had to be named after the cow that Sapnap brutally hung.

Tommy was tempted to refuse the bull-calf out of spite, but he knew what would happen to him if he went back to the Badlands. He’d end up in a furnace. Maybe he could just change his name, but he decided against it because it was the cow’s identity whether he liked it or not. Tommy was never a fan of renaming animals once they had a name. Even if their name was cruel.

While the boy was still coming to terms with Mushroom Henry’s name, Ant said, “Merry Christmas” and left through the nether portal.

The silence that filled the air after Ant left was almost suffocating. He hated the cat hybrid and wished that the Badlands could have sent anyone else, but he hated being alone. Sure, he was growing accustomed to it, but he didn’t want to be.

Mushroom Henry chuffed and blinked lazily at Tommy. He gave a half smile and scratched the cow behind his pole, feeling the overgrown and coarse fur between his fingers. Mushroom Henry closed his eyes and leaned into Tommy’s hand. Maybe having the bull around wouldn’t be such a bad thing. When they had no one, at least they would have each other. He thought it was slightly sad that he would have to rely on a cow for company, but he wasn’t necessarily in a place to complain.

It was nice to have someone that depended on him again. Maybe once he was allowed back in L’Manberg, he’d take the bull with him. Or maybe he’d set him free.

“Alright, big man,” Tommy said while beginning to tug on the bull’s lead. “Let’s go to our camp.”

The cow followed behind him without much argument, which was slightly surprising to Tommy. All the cattle he had worked with in the past were rather stubborn and required a lot of force to move, but Mushroom Henry followed without objection. He wasn’t about to question it. It would be a hassle to be stuck with a stubborn bull as a roommate.

The wind began to blow harshly and Tommy looked up at the sky, the bull still trailing behind him. It was still quite cloudy, but it wouldn’t sleet tonight. That’s good. That meant he had time to construct a small shelter for his new friend before it got too cold. He folded his wings around his body to shield himself from the wind. He needed a thicker coat.

As they neared Logstedshire, Tommy considered tying the cow outside, but instantly felt a small prick of guilt. Mushroom Henry’s fur was shaggy enough to spare him from the cold, but he knew from experience how rough the wind chill could get. With slight reservations, Tommy led the bull within the safety of the increasingly familiar oak walls. He puffed out a relieved sigh once the wind stopped and returned his wings to a relaxed fold on his back.

Ghostbur was busying himself by preparing the area around the shrub with seating and had a chest stocked with various food items. It was mostly just busy work as he waited for Tommy to return from his little spat with Antfrost.

“Hey, Ghostbur,” Tommy greeted the ghost.

“Tommy!” the ghost responded jovially. “All is well?”

“Yeah, I didn’t rough him too badly,” the blonde boy joked. “We have a new friend joining us today.”

Ghostbur looked faintly concerned and Tommy sighed, knowing exactly what his brother was about to ask.

“You have such little faith in me. No, I did not mug Antfrost,” Tommy said. “He’s a gift from the Badlands, apparently.”

The ghost visibly sighed in relief and the winged boy rolled his eyes. He and Ghostbur have been working on a plan to get more visitors to Logstedshire. Unbeknownst to the ghost, Tommy intended to use this plot in order to recruit sympathizers to his side and petition for his return to L’Manberg, but he didn’t need to know that part. It was all the reason more for Tommy to follow the plan.

Their agreement was that Ghostbur would invite members of L’Manberg to Logstedshire and Tommy would be on his best behavior during these visits. The overall thought was that if Tommy proved to the people of L’Manberg that he could be amiable, then they would want him around more. This seems like commence sense, but the winged boy knew that it would not be as easy as it sounded. He was increasingly irritable as the days went by and just seeing Antfrost almost made him revert back. But, he held strong and true.

Tommy smiled, feeling rather proud of himself. Today truly was going to be the first good day of many. He could feel it.

“I’m so proud of you, Tommy,” Ghostbur praised in genuine glee.

The winged boy scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. He didn’t really want to bring attention to the fact that his brother was proud of him for basic human decency. It didn’t paint a promising picture.

“Could you place down a post for our new friend? I don’t want him disturbing the guests and decorations,” Tommy said, brushing off the ghost’s praise.

As Ghostbur placed a wooden post on the far wall, he asked, “What’s our new friend’s name?”

“His name is…” Tommy briefly considered changing the bull’s name, but then decided to hold firm. “His name is Mushroom Henry.”

“Mushroom Henry, huh?” the ghost repeated before looking at the cow with an appraising look. “That name sounds a bit familiar.”

The boy twitched his wings and merely led the bull over to the post before tying it with plenty of slack. The cow butted Tommy lightly with his head and he gave a small laugh, shocked by the strength of the impact. It didn’t hurt, but caught Tommy off guard, forcing him to spread his wings in order to regain his balance. He shook his head and scratched behind a red ear, flicking it with his index finger playfully. Mushroom Henry irritably moved his head away from Tommy and snorted.

“Yeah, I dunno, Ghostbur,” Tommy said, dodging the observation. He stood up and asked, “Is there anything else that needs to be done?”

Ghostbur wiped the pensive look off his face before saying, “Nope! I don’t believe so!”

“About how long until they start arriving?”

“Should be any minute now.”

Tommy felt his anxiety begin to bubble up again, but he swallowed it back with a flutter of his wings. He spread one wing out before him, checking to make sure they were in semi-decent shape. His feathers retained their golden sheen, but they were slightly duller and stiff with the cold and salt water. He instantly pushed back the memory of being in the ocean. Now was not the time to think of that.

Ultimately, he decided they were fine. The fact that they were clipped was obvious, but he was done trying to keep that a secret. Tommy doubted Phil would really care anyways. Only Fundy would be able to tell they were maybe a little off color, but no one else would really have the eyes for it. Besides, today was Tommy’s turning point. Today, everything would start going right.

He straightened his wings in his fold and ran a hand through his hair. It felt disgusting between his fingers, making him grimace slightly, but he felt like it was otherwise as good as it was going to get.

Before the pacing could begin once again, he heard the sound of the nether portal begin activated. Impatiently, he jogged over to the entrance of Logstedshire, ready to greet whoever it was that arrived. He felt his breathing begin to quicken but deliberately forced it to slow. If Tommy could survive an encounter with Antfrost without going off the rails, he could handle seeing one of his friends. He would be okay.

Impatiently, he tapped his foot and twitched his wings. A small part of him kept whispering that he would mess it up like he did at the nether. But, he shook his head and reminded himself that if Ranboo could forgive him, then anyone should eventually come around to it.

He didn't have much time to agonize over it before two very familiar individuals rounded the corner with slight smiles on their faces.

Ghostbur, who had glided up next to Tommy without him realizing, called out to them with overwhelming joy, “Merry Christmas!”

Ranboo and Fundy gave a small wave before saying, “Merry Christmas”, as well.

They looked good, Tommy realized with a slight pang.

Ranboo was wearing a very warm looking black coat with fur lining the hood and edges. His winter boots were also thick and fur-lined. He looked like he was dressed for snow even though Logstedshire had yet to see any proper flurries. Tommy wondered if it was snowing in L’Manberg.

Fundy, on the other hand, was wearing what almost looked to Antarctic Empire clothing though Tommy had no idea where he could have gotten such clothing. His cloak was thick and a familiar sky blue that Tommy hadn’t seen in years. The fox hybrid also had an emerald hanging from one of his ears.

Tommy’s worn trench coat was beginning to feel inadequate in the face of their true winter attire. He wished that he had thought to bring extra clothes before following Dream out to the middle of nowhere, but this being said, he didn’t exactly have a lot of time to plan and react.

He shook his head before greeting, “Hello, Ranboo. Fundy.”

“Hey, man,” Fundy said while Ranboo gave a small wave.

Things were slightly awkward between the three men, but thankfully Ghostbur was there to break it up as he led them into Logstedshire Proper. Even though they were the people Tommy talked with the most during his exile, they hadn’t once come by to visit his camp. He didn’t exactly blame them, but it still stung slightly. 

“Here is where we’ll be having our main party,” Ghostbur said while gesturing to the set of chairs around their little tree. “And here-” he led them to Mushroom Henry- “is Logstedshire’s newest member.”

“Oh yeah,” Fundy said while patting the cow on the head. “I remember Bad was pretty excited when he found this guy.”

“His name’s Mushroom Henry,” Ghostbur announced.

Tommy twitched slightly at the name, but brushed it off. It wasn’t the bull’s fault he was given an insensitive name.

“Gotcha,” Fundy said. “Hey Tommy, didn’t you have a cow named Henry back L’Manberg?”

The winged boy scratched the back of his neck before replying, “Yeah, something like that.”

Fundy gave a slightly surprised huff, but moved on without further questioning. He walked over to the small seating area Ghostbur had prepared and lounged in one of the foldable chairs. Ranboo awkwardly followed after him, taking a seat next to the fox hybrid.

Tommy didn’t really know what to do so he awkwardly swayed in place, trying to figure out what to say. He hadn’t had to entertain people in so long that he almost forgot how. Back in the nether, they had a common objective in mind so any stalls in the conversation were not awkward, but merely a product of being focused. Tommy began to think that maybe this was a mistake.

Before Tommy could offer the option that they leave a bit sooner than anticipated, Fundy yawned and stood up from his chair. He approached the winged boy with an only slightly awkward expression.

“I almost forgot,” the fox hybrid said while twitching his ear. “Phil wanted me to give you a couple things.”

The boy scoffed slightly and said, “Well why didn’t Phil come here on his own?”

“Could be any number of reasons,” Fundy said vaguely while shrugging.

Tommy didn’t exactly want Phil around, but it stung knowing that his father made the conscious choice to stay away rather than try to mend any bridges. Sure, Tommy had rejected Ghostbur’s offer for Phil to visit, but he was a teenager. He was supposed to do that. Dads were supposed to show up anyways.

After a couple seconds of Fundy rifling through his inventory, he withdrew a warm looking pair of sky blue boots with a golden chain decorating the exterior. A familiar star-like insignia adorned the pull straps and it filled Tommy with nostalgia. A pristine white fur lined the interior and he knew that they had to be a new pair. The old ones he had left in the Empire were stained black with gunpowder, not to mention entirely too small.

“Phil said it’d be getting pretty cold around here,” Fundy explained while holding out the boots. “He figured you’d appreciate a nice pair of boots.”

Refusing to allow tears to fill his eyes, Tommy took the pair and slipped them on after pulling off his old trainers. They fit perfectly. They were just as comfortable as he remembered. Nostalgia threatened to overwhelm the boy as his bruised and callused feet fit snugly inside the fur lining. He already felt warmer.

“Also,” Fundy said. “He wanted to offer you something else.”

Carefully held out in the fox hybrid’s hand was an emerald earring hung by a gold chain. The gem was cut into the Antarctic Empire’s star and was chipped around the edges. Someone had gone to great lengths to restore this piece of jewelry and Tommy hasn’t seen it since he resigned citizenship and nobility of the empire. He didn’t know Phil kept it for all these years.

“Phil didn’t say exactly where he got these, but he also gave me an earring,” Fundy said while gesturing to the emerald that hung from his ear. “Figure it’s some sort of family crest or something.”

Tommy took the emerald and slid the post into his right ear lobe, slightly surprised that his piercing was still viable, securing it with the gold backing. He smiled nostalgically and delicately held the emerald with his fingers before letting it hang on it’s chain. Subconsciously, Tommy also brushed a hand against the compass that hung under his shirt. Decked out in his old boots and old jewelry, he felt some semblance of completeness again.

“Did Phil tell you about the Antarctic Empire?” Tommy asked in a low voice.

Fundy made a noise of contemplation before saying, “Only briefly. He never really told many stories about it.”

The boy twitched his wings in slight disappointment. He didn’t appreciate how he was feeling nostalgic all of a sudden. It’s not like the Antarctic Empire was full of the most uplifting of memories. Mostly just a constant pressure to take more and more territory and command their legion with competency. Tommy was never one for war and neither was Wilbur. They fought because they were expected to. It was only once they had their own nation did they understand the urge to protect every square inch of land.

It was that pressure that caused Wilbur and Tommy to leave. It was that same pressure that caused the empire to collapse and dissolve into an unorganized, archistic commune. Then, Phil abandoned this empire to continue exploring the world without the chains of leadership keeping him shackled. Techno tried to pull it together, but ultimately failed and went off on his own.

Not the best of memories, but Tommy still felt rather fond. He groaned and rubbed his face with his hands. Tubbo was right. He does not think logically, rather he only thinks with emotion.

Fundy had already gone back to sitting in his foldable chair, chatting amiably to Ranboo and Ghostbur about some random thing that occurred in his day. Tommy gave himself a shake and joined them after depositing his old shoes into a chest in his little house.

“-yeah, Quackity was not super pleased.” Fundy said, telling a story that Tommy didn’t catch the beginning of.

The winged boy sat at one of the chairs and asked, “What was Big Q complaining about?”

“Just the snow and ice that’s been accumulating recently,” Fundy said. “He complains that he’s useless when the lakes are all frozen over. Says he might cut off his wings entirely.”

At this, Tommy huffed a laugh. His golden wings were designed for flight. Lightweight yet strong, nearly twice his size. Quackity’s wings, on the other hand, were more akin to a waterfowl. They were smaller and dense, useless for flight and actually produced more drag, making them a hazard in open air. He could never get off the ground even if he was diving off a cliff with a tailwind. 

In the water, however, Quackity’s wings were unmatched. While Tommy and Wilbur’s wings were life threatening when submerged, or at least a nuisance, Quackity’s wings helped him cut through the water with an almost effortless grace. They were absolutely useless when the water froze over, however, so three months out of the year, his wings were dead weight.

“So it’s already begun snowing?” Tommy asked.

“Yeah. Not a whole lot, but just enough to be annoying.”

“I think I like snow even less than I like rain,” Ranboo said, jumping in with a shudder. 

Ghostbur gave him a sympathetic look and said, “I understand. The snow somehow always hurts worse than the rain.”

“Exactly!” the enderman exclaimed. “I think it’s because the snow sticks around.”

“It’s almost more of a sustained burn,” Ghostbur supplied.

Tommy had no idea that his brother and Ranboo had gotten close, or at least bonded over the fact that they were hypersensitive to the elements. He felt a prick of jealousy, but pushed it down. It was none of his business if his friend and brother got along. If anything, he should be happy for them. His ability to be happy for people had been severely depleted throughout exile, instead replaced with a bitterness that Tommy didn’t appreciate.

Ranboo and Ghostbur continued to rant about the snow while they all waited for the other guests to arrive. Fundy occasionally jumped in by saying how the snow was always hard to get out of his fur. Tommy more or less just listened, but chimed in about how he has the same problem with his feathers.

Suddenly, the nether portal could be heard as it activated once more. Tommy no longer felt much anxiety since the easy conversation between Fundy, Ranboo, and Ghostbur proved that he was still capable of being around people. This being said, he still tensed. All four men swiveled their heads to the entrance to try and identify their new companions.

Tommy reluctantly moved to get up and greet whoever showed up, but Ghostbur beat him to it and glided over to the entrance like a proper host. Relief filled the boy as he realized he wouldn’t have to serve as an icebreaker.

In a subconscious motion, Tommy pulled the compass out from behind his shirt and clicked it open, hoping to find the needle pointing more to the north than the east, but it held firm. Disappointment welled in him as he realized Tubbo was nowhere near him.

“Is that new?” Fundy asked, pointing at the brass compass.

Tommy quickly shut the lid and shoved it back under his shirt. He didn’t know if he was allowed to have such a heavily enchanted object and he wasn’t keen on finding out.

Realizing he should probably say something, he sputtered, “Um… Nope! Had it for ages.”

“Really?” Fundy challenged with an eyebrow quirked in disbelief. “Because it looks awfully similar to what Phil and Ghostbur were crafting. Or is that a coincidence?”

“Must be a coincidence,” Tommy replied in a dodgy manner. “I’ve had this my whole life.”

The fox hybrid clearly didn’t buy into the lie one bit, but Tommy was in too deep to back out now. He wasn’t sure if he would get in more trouble for admitting the truth or lying, but he knew that admitting to a lie would be the worst option. Fundy looked as though he was going to continue his line of questioning and Tommy was not not excited.

He looked to the enderman hybrid who was absorbed with writing in a leather bound book. The pages were thick and splotted with ink, the binding loose with extensive use. Tommy wanted to deflect and bring Ranboo into the conversation, but last time he roped the enderman into his conflict, he teleported a couple hundred blocks away. Ranboo was clearly already affected by the tension in the air as he stiffened and appeared to be holding his breath.

“Tommy, I know what it is,” Fundy revealed. “I just want to know why you’re lying.”

The boy froze momentarily, his wings flaring slightly in dismay. He didn’t think he was all that obvious, but he supposed he always had a penchant for being a terrible liar. During the Revolutionary War, just before he had given up his discs, Wilbur instantly knew something was up with his younger brother. During the Pogtopia era, he couldn’t ignore Techno’s suspicious glances everytime he gave an excuse for sneaking out. Tommy had never been a good liar.

He sighed and looked askance before saying, “It’s a compass. It’s supposed to point me to Tubbo.”

Fundy nodded and said, “Yeah. I actually helped Phil and Ghostbur figure out how to make it all work.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Well then why didn’t you just lead with that instead of making me jump through hoops?” Tommy challenged.

Fundy shifted and twitched one of his ears while saying, “I wanted to check something.”

“And that would be…”

“To see if you’re still such an awful liar,” Fundy teased while shoving Tommy lightly with a gloved hand. “You’re just the same as you always have been.”

“Shut up, you bastard,” Tommy responded, playfully rising to the bait. “I’m a big man! Big men tell big lies, my friend. And I am the biggest man of all.”

They laughed a bit and Tommy noticed how Ranboo quickly relaxed, a small smile gracing his face. The winged boy knew that Fundy was playing at another angle, but he allowed the atmosphere to remain light. They could have a more serious conversation once Ranboo left. There was no reason to put anyone on guard on Christmas day, least of all the hyper-sensitive enderman hybrid.

Tommy refused to be another emotional time bomb. From here on out, he would be as steady as the earth beneath his feet.

“Merry Christmas, guys!” an upbeat voice sounded behind them, causing them to turn their heads.

Captain Puffy stood in the entrance looking exceptionally cheerful with her cheeks rosy from the growing cold. Her long brown hair and hanging sheep ears were hidden by her hood which was pulled up over her head. Overall, she wasn’t dressed for the weather near as much as Ranboo or Fundy. She was merely wearing her trademark multi-colored hoodie and a pair of trainers.

Jack Manifold followed Puffy with a much more subdued entrance. He merely waved and gave a half-hearted smile, grumbling about the cold to which Puffy said he should have worn a bigger coat. Much like the sheep hybrid, Jack didn’t put any special effort into his appearance, opting to simply wear his black and blue striped drawstring hoodie instead of a proper winter coat.

“Okay,” Ghostbur said while guiding the two guests over to the chairs. “This should be everyone-”

Tommy cut off his brother by saying, “What about Sam?”

It wasn’t so much that Tommy would notice Sam’s absence in particular, but he wanted as many people at this party as possible. The more people he could handle, the better off he was in the long run. Today was meant to be a test of Tommy’s boundaries so he could effectively plan moving forward. Even one person could make all the difference.

Jack flopped down into one of the chairs without much care and crossed one of his legs over the other.

“Sam’s busy,” Jack said with a shrug. “He sends his regards, but otherwise he’s staying in the Badlands.”

“Oh,” Tommy said with a bit of disappointment.

He supposed it made sense considering how they sent Antfrost with Mushroom Henry when they could’ve just sent him with Sam later in the day. Tommy refused to be too output, however, as he fluffed his feathers and reclined in his chair. He had plenty of company to last the night. In fact, it was more company than he received all month!

Ghostbur placed several torches in a circle around their decorated shrub in order to keep everyone warm and keep everything well lit. Jack instantly leaned into the heat, blowing into his hands to keep warm before facing them towards the fire.

“No one told me it would be so cold,” Jack complained as he drew his hoodie over his head.

Puffy laughed slightly as said, “For the millionth time, I did tell you to dress warmer.”

“But Puffy,” Tommy said with a tone of mock superiority. “You’re forgetting the ancient proverb.”

The sheep hybrid looked over to him with a tilt of her head. Tommy paused for a moment in order to ensure he had everyone’s attention before saying, “You should never trust a woman.”

“Aye!” Jack exclaimed with a huge smile, reached over to pound the winged boy’s fist. “That’s my man, Tommy!”

“Yeah, you get it, Big J!” Tommy shouted back, laughing.

Fundy just shook his head and sighed, already fed up with the teen’s sense of humor. Ranboo cracked an almost hesitant and nervous laugh. He looked caught between apologizing for Tommy’s joke and joining in on the laughter. Puffy, meanwhile, just shook her head and groaned.

“It’s that exact kind of thinking that always gets you boys into trouble,” the sheep hybrid said in exasperation. “If you just listened then-”

“And go against our morals?” Tommy challenged. “I thought you were supposed to be kind and considerate, Puffy.”

Jack shook his head and said, “It’s unbecoming of you.”

Puffy’s ears twitched under her hood as she lightly smacked Jack on the arm. The man let out a sound of shock and immediately began to cry something about it being totally uncalled for. Everyone rolled their eyes, but Fundy leaned forward.

“I think it was totally called for,” the fox hybrid said with a sneer. “You should be more considerate.”

“Shut up, Fundy,” Jack said while rubbing his arm.

The sheep hybrid laughed good naturedly and said without truly meaning it, “Sorry, Jack.”

Tommy laughed and smiled genuinely for what felt like the first time in weeks. While the friends bickered and joked, Ghostbur pulled his guitar over his shoulders and began to play some random tunes. There was a warm sense of easy comradery between the six people, all crowded around a small shrub and torchlight. Jack was at a disadvantage since he was the only non-hybrid amongst endermen and avians. They continued to bully him for a while, Tommy eventually turning against Jack, but it was all in good fun. 

Suddenly, Ghostbur stopped playing as though he were struck by something and exclaimed, “You know what this reminds me of!?” 

Everyone looked at the ghost with great interest. Ghostbur rarely remembered things that he didn’t read in history books or was told directly, but on occasion, old memories from Wilbur would leak through the barrier. Most of those memories were negative ones that would leave Ghostbur shaking and hiding away. Seeing his brother so excited of a memory gave Tommy hope.

“What is it, Ghostbur?” Tommy prompted.

“Reminds me of the revolution! Remember that, Tommy? Fundy?” the ghost said with his arms outstretched.

Of course, Tommy and Fundy had many memories of the revolution, but most of them were not the positive sort. His golden wings shifted uncomfortably and Fundy’s ears twitched as they both recalled sleepless nights of a constant barrage against their walls. As they recalled downing several health potions a day and reaping the consequences. A constant feeling of hopelessness and wondering if the revolution would be worth it. Keeping a detailed itinerary of one another’s lives, heavily scratching off a heart when necessary. What good could have possible come from then?

“Remember that Christmas when we stayed up all night and Wilbur played guitar while everyone else sang or told stories?” Ghostbur said excitedly.

“Yeah,” Fundy and Tommy both said at the same time. The winged boy added, “It was pretty fun.”

What Ghostbur didn’t remember was the almost inconceivable stress they were under. They almost forgot it was Christmas and only remembered because Sapnap reminded them through a spiteful jeer. They celebrated Christmas not for joy, but purely to spite Dream and his allies. Tommy supposed with a bit of bitterness that this holiday wasn’t so different.

Puffy got an excited gleam in her hazel eyes as she said, “Maybe we could recreate that!”

“Recreate a time of war?” Jack said in a wry manner.

“No,” the sheep hybrid rolled her eyes. “We could take turns telling stories! Maybe starting with Fundy and going around while Ghostbur plays Christmas songs.”

“That sounds like a lovely idea, Puffy,” Ghostbur said with a smile. “Any requests?”

Tommy took up a mischievous grin as he said, “‘White Christmas’.”

Fundy groaned at the request while Ghostbur began testing cords excitedly and Tommy laughed in his usual high pitch. The fox hybrid had clearly heard that song entirely too much this holiday season and Tommy had to agree, but he loved to make Fundy uncomfortable.

“What?” Jack questioned. “Don’t like that one?”

“Oh no,” Fundy replied while pinching the bridge of his nose and laying his ears flat. “I like it just fine, but you stop liking a song when it plays a few hundred times a day!”

Ghostbur looked mildly affronted as he said, “I don’t play it that much.”

Fundy just fixed the ghost with a scathing look before looking to Tommy with a similar expression. Ranboo was beginning to tense and Puffy stiffened as well as she looked between the boys with concern.

“I’m sure we can just play another song,” Puffy said in an almost pleading tone.

“Nope!” Tommy exclaimed. “I’m the exiled one here, I get to call the shots!”

“Oh sure,” Fundy seethed. “Pull the exile card.”

Tommy stuck his tongue out at the fox hybrid before Fundy caved and began to laugh. Both boys laughed wildly into the cold air. It has been ages since they were able to annoy one another and Tommy missed it. Fundy was the winged boy’s favorite person to annoy, ever since the revolution, because he actually fought back and held no mercy. They bonded over distant fathers and gunfire. 

Once the other people caught onto the joke, they began to laugh as well. Ghostbur didn’t remember their mutual annoyance, but gave them a fond and knowing look anyways. Tommy missed his and Fundy’s easy comradery, even if it was tentative at best. Despite the cold, Tommy felt warmer than he had in weeks. 

After a minute, Fundy said through heaving lungs, “right, right. Guess I have to tell a story now.”

He sat there, twitching his black tipped ears while rifling through his brain for an interesting story. Everyone leaned in with interest and Fundy was beginning to look a bit nervous, but Ghostbur broke through it by playing the first few chords of ‘White Christmas”.

“Hmm…” Fundy said in contemplation. “This one’s pretty early, before anyone, except maybe Tommy, was around these parts. Anyways, I was bored so I decided to push the legal boundaries of Dream’s land…”

Tommy remembered hearing this story from Tubbo, but he hadn’t heard it from Fundy’s side. He was talking about the ‘Socializing Club’, a club meant to avoid conflicts between people that actually ended up being more akin to a cult. Specifically, Fundy talked about his first plot to kill Dream, which failed because someone tipped him off and so he stayed away from his usual haunts. 

But Fundy would not be deterred. He intended to find the limits of the server and see what he could exploit without being thrown in jail for the night. And so, he set his sights on Tubbo, a fellow member of the club. 

The winged boy withdrew his compass and checked the needle, slightly dismayed to find it firmly pointing to the east, but closed it to hear the rest of the story.

“Wait,” Jack interrupted in slight alarm. “You were going to kill Tubbo?!”

Fundy scratched the back of his neck and said, “Well not ‘take one his lives’ kill him, but just see how far I could go. I didn’t mean to actually hurt him.”

Ranboo, who was quietly observing throughout the party, pitched in and asked, “How could you kill someone without meaning it?”

“You know,” Fundy trailed off slightly. “Just force him to respawn. You can’t actually take a life without meaning to.”

“How does that make sense?” Puffy asked incredulously.

“Just trust me. Once you’re around these parts long enough, you’ll understand,” Fundy said. “Anyways…”

Fundy went on to explain how he tricked Tubbo into taking his property in order to see if killing him would be justified by defense. Ultimately, he succeeded and couldn’t be punished, but Tubbo was none too pleased. Tommy smiled as he was reminded of how clueless his best friend truly was. Even during the revolutionary war, he was the one that was forced to respawn the most amount of times.

“Wow,” Puffy said in astonishment. “I had no idea you could legally do that.”

Fundy laughed and said, “You can’t anymore. I would love to say I initiated that, but I doubt I’m that special. People did stuff like that all the time.” As an afterthought, he added, “Dream was a lot cooler back then.”

Tommy shifted a bit uncomfortably at the mention of Dream. A strange part of him told him to rush to the tyrant’s defense, but he pushed it away. Why should he defend Dream? The man was a psychopath. A small part of Tommy whispered that he was kind today, but reminded himself how awful he was any other day.

The winged boy shook his head and rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t start having conversations in his head. Antfrost’s accusation rang in his head. He didn’t want to bear any closer resemblance to Technoblade. 

“Hey, can we change the song?” Jack asked after Ghostbur began to play ‘White Christmas’ for the fourth time. 

Ghostbur smiled and stopped playing before saying, “Sure! Fundy, you should pick the next song.”

The fox hybrid shrugged and said, “I don’t really care. Just don’t let Tommy pick.”

Tommy flared his wings in mock affrontement and scoffing in dismay. He laid a hand on his chest, just over the compass, in a dramatic show of hurt.

“Fundy-” the winged boy said. “I’m wounded.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you are,” Fundy said while rolling his eyes.

“You’re a dickhead.”

“You’re a child.”

“Hey-”

Their bickering was cut short as Puffy said, “Okay, okay, okay. Boys, no fighting-” Fundy reclined back while Tommy grumbled- “Ranboo, why don’t you begin your story?”

The enderman hybrid jumped slightly and looked around like a deer in the headlights. He looked extremely nervous and appeared to be happy just listening to everyone else. Now that Tommy thought about it, Ranboo had been quiet all day. A faint buzzing static began to sound in the air, causing Fundy and Puffy to twitch their ears irritably. Tommy was about to intervene and say they should probably skip, but Ranboo beat him to it as he lurched back into reality.

“Um…” Ranboo said quietly and nervously. “Is… Is it okay if we skip me?”

“Of course,” Puffy said in concern. “Is everything okay?”

The static began to quiet down as the enderman hybrid explained a hurt while his mismatched eyes darted around, “Yeah! No! Everything’s good! I just don’t have many interesting stories to tell, I mean certainly none as interesting as Fundy’s, you know? I don’t want to bore-”

Fundy cut in and said, “What Ranboo means to say is he’s a bit camera shy, if you know what I mean.”

The teenager slumped back, a blush forming on his cheeks as he rushed to apologize only to be interrupted by the group as Jack and Puffy gave affirmative hums, as though they understood.

“I get that,” Puffy said. “Especially since you don’t know us well.”

“Yeah! All is good, man,” Jack affirmed.

Ghostbur began to play random Christmas melodies since he wasn’t getting any requests. Tommy gave Ranboo a supportive smile and the boy looked back at him with gratitude. The enderman hybrid almost deflated with relief. He took out the leather-bound book from his inventory and began to write something in with a smile. 

“Alright, I’ll tell a story next,” Jack said while leaning forward. “I think the most interesting story I have is that of Manifoldland. Specifically how I was bullied into annexing it L’Manberg and how I am definitely still a country despite what Quackity says.”

He went on to talk about the power struggle in his country and how he fights just to maintain supremacy over the land, despite being the only citizen. Jack complained about how he couldn’t get anyone to accept his invitations for citizenships, even Antfrost despite his grief with the Badlands.

Overall, his story didn’t last very long and only earned a few mildly interested hums. He was preaching to the wrong choir since four sixths of the party were, or least once were, L’Manbergians. Fundy, who was pro-annexation of Manifoldland, merely twitched an ear. No one wanted to be rude and interrupt the awkward silence that followed, but it was Puffy’s turn to tell a story and Ghostbur continued obliviously playing the guitar.

The sheep hybrid cleared her throat and twitched her ears. Everyone, including Jack, turned their heads to give Puffy their full attention, desperate for anything to distract themselves.

“Well,” Puff said. “I’m pretty new here, but I’m sure you all know me and Eret are good friends.”

Tommy hummed in interest as he said, “Are we going to get gossip on the king of the SMP?”

The winged boy was suddenly very interested and leaned forward, almost falling into the torch. He got almost no gossip these days and was eager for any sort of news, even if it was from an enemy nation and a former traitor. He was still on rocky ground with Eret, but he had considered forgiving him. Considered it. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to forgive the man for purposefully taking one of his lives. Wilbur might still be alive if he hadn’t been in the control room. Tubbo would’ve been safer. Tommy would’ve been more secure and less afraid of Dream.

He shook his head and returned his attention to Puffy.

“No. No gossip,” Puffy said. “I wouldn’t do that to my friend. More of a funny story from when I first visited his castle.”

Her story was a rather entertaining one. Apparently, on her first day of joining the SMP, Eret allowed her to take shelter in his castle. This was back during the Schlatt administration’s fearmongering and people’s overall low opinion on hybrids during that time due to Schlatt’s tyranny and Wilbur’s mental decay. The sheep hybrid chose a poor time to enter the nation, but she was grateful that Eret took her in.

This being said, he was keeping a small herd of sheep in his castle in order to harvest their wool. Puffy, being a sheep hybrid, was disgusted and plotted to free them.

“Let me get this straight,” Fundy said in slight outrage. “Eret showed you his herd of sheep despite you being… you know… a sheep hybrid?”

Puffy laughed and said, “Yeah.”

“Isn’t that a little messed up?”

“Maybe,” Puffy shrugged. “But he didn’t exactly show me. We just kinda passed them on our way to the guest area.”

Fundy huffed and said, “Does that make it any better?”

“Maybe not, but it’s okay. He’s not really a hybrid. He couldn’t have known that it would offend me.”

“You’re a lot more understanding than I am.”

Tommy listened to their exchange with only half interest. Since he was an avian, he didn’t really understand the hang ups agricultural hybrids had over keeping cows or sheep as pets or a resource. He glanced over at Mushroom Henry, who was laying with his head tucked in, fast asleep. He was a little uncomfortable seeing cattle restrained, but that was more due to a personal fondness for them than any sort of kinship.

Even Technoblade didn’t really care when they came across a pig farm. Sure, he swore off eating pork, but he didn’t really care what anyone else did. Although this being said, Techno generally didn’t care unless he had personal interest and he was more of a piglin hybrid than an actual boar. 

Musing about hybrid relations, Tommy didn’t even notice that Puffy had already reached the climax of her story. He quickly jumped back into focus, but missed the entire middle portion of the story.

Apparently, Puffy freed the sheep, but Eret was not too pleased. He forced her to respawn back in the oak forest surrounding the SMP since she had yet to set her spawn in the castle. She refused to give up, however. She was banned from entering that part of the castle, but snuck in once it was dark to try and free them. The story ended with Puffy killing the sheep when she couldn’t free them.

“If you kill a sheep, isn’t that technically homicide?” Jack mused.

Puffy shrugged and said, “Killing them was a mercy. I know I would hate to be trapped and purely used for a product.”

A dark side of Tommy’s mind posed the question of morality to himself. What if that same ruled applied to him in exile? Would it have been kinder for Tubbo to order his execution rather than exile? Tommy sighed and shifted his wings, looking up to the sky. He breathed out a cloud of warm air against the rapidly dropping temperatures. It wasn’t extremely cold. Nothing that a torch and a coat couldn’t ward off.

Spots of stars were shining through where the thick clouds were parting. The moon wasn’t visible, but the stars were beautiful above him. He ached to be up there, flying above the clouds. There was no view of the universe quite like being above the clouds. No torches were there to drown out the starlight. It was just quiet and beautiful. Back in Pogtopia, he would hover up above the clouds for several minutes at a time, just to clear his head.

Fundy tapped him on the shoulder and said, “Hey, Earth to Tommy.”

“Huh?” Tommy said, snapping out of his trance. “What’s up?”

“It’s your turn to tell a story,” Puffy said.

“Right!” Tommy exclaimed.

His senses immediately snapped back to the presence. Ghostbur was still strumming on his guitar, playing familiar holiday tunes, while the torches were still burning brightly. Everyone looked at him expectantly and Tommy smirked. He and Wilbur were always the major story tellers back in the revolution. Ghostbur wasn’t much of a storyteller anymore since his memory was shot, but all that meant was Tommy had more air to tell his stories.

“You guys have heard of the Antarctic Empire, right?” Tommy asked dramatically.

Ghostbur had a look of concentration, but otherwise appeared to be drawing a blank. Tommy felt slightly disappointed, but refused to let it get him down. Fundy shrugged while the rest of the party either shook their heads or leaned forward to give the winged boy their full attention.

“Right, well, I have two stories I could tell so I want you to choose,” Tommy prompted. “Option one is the story of my very first expedition to South Africa. Option two is the story of the Antarctic Empire’s first conflict with Dream.”

Overwhelmingly, they wanted to hear the story of the Dream conflict. He wasn’t surprised. He wanted to present an option to make sure he had everyone’s interest and attention. Back in the revolution, he found that the best way to get people interested in a story was to ask them questions. Tommy spread his wings slightly so his gold feathers caught the flames. He was going full story teller mode.

“Alright, so I was about eight or nine at the time,” Tommy said. “Philza, Technoblade, and Wilbur had just claimed a major bit of land in South Africa and we were beginning to get some unwanted attention from other factions and nations. You see, the Antarctic Empire’s growth was curbed by some trial that happened, I don’t remember the specifics. But, I can tell you that Techno and Phil were not going to be held down.”

Everyone’s attention was completely rapt on Tommy’s story. They rarely heard tales of the Antarctic Empire since the only ones to experience them were either dead or sworn to silence. Even Philza and Techno were hesitant to talk about it. Probably because they didn’t want to be accused of hypocrisy. Wilbur and Tommy, however? They had no such reservations and they lived to tell the tale.

“For the most part, these conflicts were stomped out in a matter of a few hours since… well… you all know Techno’s military prowess.” Tommy paused and saw Fundy and Jack’s eyes shadow in memory. The others either joined too late and never really met Techno, but they certainly heard stories of the boar of legend.

“Right,” Tommy said, jumping back into his story. “Well sometime after our twelfth victory, we were feeling pretty good. I was too young to fight, but I saw entire armies get snuffed out in minutes. It was an amazing sight. But, one day, we got an adversary unlike any other.

“He was just a single man. He didn’t wear any armor. Just a green cloak and a strange mask.”

Everyone was nodding along. They knew exactly who Tommy was speaking of, but he paused for dramatic silence.

Tommy went on to say how Wilbur was furious at the audacity of this singular man, but Techno and Phil were hardened warriors of battle and efficient militant leaders. They knew that no man was that stupid. Afterall, the Antarctic Empire had a bit of a reputation those days. Phil was going to treat this man with a wary sort of caution. 

With the Blade at his heels, Phil went up to his country’s gates with an open mind for either conflict or peace. He was prepared for war, but would not be foolish.

“The man called himself Dream,” Tommy said. “I didn’t catch what they were saying, but it definitely wasn’t friendly. The strange man drew his netherite axe and went to assassinate Phil only for Techno to immediately parry the blow. Negotiations were all over by then.

“I rushed out with Wilbur to join the fray, but was pushed back. I thought, ‘well it’s just a single man! How bad could it be?’. Turns out, worse than I ever imagined.”

Puffy clasped a hand over her mouth and everyone was pretty tense. Ghostbur had stopped playing music as he was too invested in the story. Tommy paused once more beginning his tale again.

“I waited by the gates for a few minutes, expecting them to be finished in record time. But the clashing of metal did not cease. Dream was holding his own in a one v three! I kept telling myself they’d be done soon, but when Wilbur crashed through the gates with the most stricken expression I had ever seen, I was frozen. I was actually terrified.

“So, Wil dragged me into the bunker and told me to stay put. This battle had graduated from a spectator sport to a genuine emergency and I had just barely begun my training.” In a side note, he added in a lighter tone, “I’m more of a lover than a fighter.”  
That comment earned a couple chuckles around the torches. Tommy went on to describe the agony of waiting for his family to return, not knowing if they were alive, not knowing if he would be safe. 

“Of course, I had little doubt that Techno would survive, but Philza and Wil are avians like me. We aren’t built for fighting in the way that the Blade was, but they held their own. I wish I could have seen the battle, but I was cowering away like a pussy. Nowadays, of course I would be right in the front lines! Dream wouldn’t stand a chance,” Tommy boasted.

A few nervous glances were changed amidst the crows and the winged boy knew the irony of the statement as he pressed on with his story.

“Eventually, they came back and apparently our first official war was declared in a single meeting. Let me tell you though,” Tommy paused and everyone leaned once more. “You would’ve never seen Techno so defeated. This was his first major defeat and even then, it was more of a draw. The Antarctic Empire wasn’t prepared for Dream, but this was just the first battle of many.”

Tommy sat back in his seat and refolded his wings, confident that he told his story well. His throat was a bit sore from the mix of overuse and the cold air. He cleared his throat and rubbed it a bit. His hand brushed his compass as he raised it and he suddenly wished Tubbo was here. Tubbo always loved the Antarctic Empire stories. They almost sounded like a fantasy to the brunette.

Fundy whistled and said, “I had no idea you’ve been at war with Dream for this long.”

“Yeah, well,” Tommy coughed. “It’s calmer than it used to be. That was just the origin.”

“How old did you say you were?” Puffy asked in slight concern.

“Around eight, I think.” Tommy looked to Ghostbur who had begun strumming his guitar again. “Do you remember?”

The ghost stopped his idle playing and pursed his lips in thought, looking progressively more troubled as he drew a blank. He sighed tinnily and said, “Sorry, Tommy. I don’t think I do.”

“It’s fine,” Tommy assured with a wave of his hand. He wasn’t really expecting the ghost to remember.

“Wow,” Puffy said in astonishment. “Only eight and already that battle hardened.”

She looked almost sad or at least she looked sympathetic, but Tommy was a little confused as to why. He’s been around violence since the time he was born. Philza took him in while his feathers were still downy and soft. Being the third son of an emperor wasn’t as soft of a life as the movies portray, especially not when said nation was struggling for power.

Jack Manifold stretched in his chair and yawned exaggeratedly. Tommy looked at the clock and was surprised to find that it was almost midnight.

“Well,” Jack said in a yawn. “This was fun, but I think I’m ready to go home.”

“Sounds good to me,” Puffy said. With a worried glance to Tommy, she asked, “Are you going to be okay?”

The winged boy shrugged and said, “It’s been weeks. I think I handle it.”

The sheep hybrid looked at him with growing concern and Tommy began to feel uncomfortable. Why were they suddenly so attentive to his well being after almost a solid month of silence? It was slightly unnerving and he didn’t know how to handle it. He was growing used to Techno’s random appearances, never showing his face, but occasionally saving him from drowning with nothing more than a health potion and footsteps to prove his presence.

Tommy still didn’t like to be alone with Techno in the area, especially since he now knew that the boar was only a couple biomes to the north. He shook out his feathers.

“It’s okay,” Fundy said. “I’ll stay with him tonight.”

The winged boy looked at the fox hybrid as though he had sprouted another head. This was even more alarming. In a group of people, he was confident in his ability to add in conversation, but one on one? Things got more intimate than Tommy was comfortable with.

“No, Fundy,” Tommy said while ruffling his wings. “I’ll be fine alone. Besides! Ghostbur normally stays.”

He was hoping to ward Fundy off by threatening him with the comfortable presence of his ghostly father, but the fox wouldn’t be deterred. He just shrugged and said, “So be it.”

“Actually, Tommy,” Ghostbur began with a bit of guilt in his tone. “I was going to visit Philza and Techno tonight…” Hastily, he added, “Only if that’s alright!”

With a begrudging sigh, Tommy responded, “Yeah. That’s fine, Ghostbur.”

“Should I tell them you said hello?”

The winged boy waved a hand and looked askance while sayin, “Don’t bother. In fact, don’t tell them you saw me at all.”

Everyone was made slightly awkward by this comment. Most of the people that visited weren’t around long enough to be triggered by mentioning Technoblade, but most were all too familiar with family problems. 

Jack was the first one to break the awkward silence as he coughed and said, “Well, I’m going to be heading home. Puffy, you coming?”

With one last worried glance, the sheep hybrid stood up and followed Jack to the entrance. Ranboo and Ghostbur followed them, saying their last “Merry Christmas” and promising to visit more. Tommy took that last statement with a grain of salt, but it was nice to think. Today had been a success, overall. Today was Tommyinnit’s turning point.

Once everyone had left through the nether portal, Tommy was awkwardly left alone with Fundy. He shifted his wings awkwardly, not knowing if he should say anything. Did Fundy want an apology for his behavior in the nether? Did he expect some sort of compensation? He didn’t have anything to give. A small voice warned Tommy of potential explosives, but he just waved it off. Fundy hated TNT almost as much the winged boy did.

“Well, that was fun,” Fundy said while shifting his weight.

“Yeah,” Tommy replied awkwardly.

This was exactly what Tommy was trying to avoid. Irritably, he stood up and began folding chairs to put away. Fundy wordlessly began to help and in no time, the chairs were gone and the torches were redistributed around Logstedshire. They decided to leave the decorations for a while. It looked nice and Tommy could use a reminder of his one night of normalcy.

“Oh!” Fundy said suddenly, rifling through his inventory. “I have something for you, actually.”

After a bit of awkward shuffling, the fox hybrid approached Tommy with several polaroid pictures in his hand.

“Ghostbur was supposed to bring them over when he brought the compass, but he forgot them back at home,” Fundy explained while holding them out.

Tommy took them and said, “So you hung back just so you can give me some pictures?”

“No,” Fundy said. “I’ll explain in a bit. Give me a minute.”

Without another word, the fox hybrid walked out into the dark beyond Logstedshire without a torch. Tommy supposed that he probably didn’t need any additional light to see given his heritage, but it was a bit unnerving to see him just disappear. 

Tommy was a bit reluctant to look at these polaroids. He glanced at the first one to see a massive Christmas tree and with a heavy heart, he compared it to his small indoor shrub and outdoor tree. He decided these images hurt a bit too much to look at right now, so he folded them up and placed them inside his compass. He would look at them when he didn’t have a cheerful mood to maintain. It had been a good day. Why ruin it?

Thankfully, Fundy appeared in the entrance before Tommy could be tempted.

“Hey, Tommy! Come out here!” he shouted.

“Yeah, I’m comin’,” Tommy responded. “Just wait up! I can’t see in the dark.”

“Don’t bring a torch,” Fundy commanded when the winged boy was about to pick one up.

“What? Why not?”

“Just trust me.”

Tommy threw up his hands and warily began to follow the fox hybrid out the archway. He shifted his wings and fluttered them anxiously. Under his breath, he muttered, “Why do I feel like I’m about to be mugged.”

The winged boy felt uneasy walking in the dark. Sure, he knew the territory well thanks to several nights of exploring, but he always traveled by torchlight. He could barely see his feet, but roughly knew where he was because of how the terrain changed from planks of wood to frostbitten grass. Fundy’s ginger hair was barely visible and Tommy refused to take his eyes off it in case he lost sight of the fox hybrid. 

Fundy stopped hiking once he reached the pinnacle of a hill that overlooked the ocean. Tommy recognized this bluff as the same one that he first groomed his clipped wings. He shuffled them in their fold and felt a twinge of grief as the wind current called him home. The ocean was in its low tide beneath him and he could hear the waves crashing against the rock. Tommy subconsciously stepped back from the cold depth. Memories of struggling in the unforgiving current surged forth in his mind. 

His lungs began to burn, but Tommy couldn’t tell if it was from the cold air or residual ocean water. Likely the former, but he still felt uneasy.

“Tommy,” Fundy said while facing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Look out here.”

The fox hybrid was pointing out in the north, away from the ocean. Tommy turned around and looked across the expanse with a slight frown. It was the same territory he was used to. Forests surrounded the edges with a small clearing where Logstedshire stood. The only difference was that it was dark so he couldn’t make any definition.

“Yeah, it’s dark,” Tommy said unimpressed. “Did you really bring me all the way out here in the cold and dark just to show me this?”

Fundy sighed and said, “I’m trying to have a touching moment here, but you are ruining it.”

“Then tell me what’s up, dickhead!”

Tommy could practically hear Fundy’s eyes roll and he could make out the irritable twitch of his ears. 

“Fine,” the fox hybrid said irritably. “Look in the sky. Follow where I’m pointing.”

The winged boy huffed but nevertheless did what he was told. He lined up his sight so it traced exactly where Fundy was pointing. He was about to comment on how all there was were a bunch of clouds, but then they began to part to reveal a patchwork of the stars in the sky. An almost perfect map of the universe, untainted by light. It took Tommy’s breath away and reminded him of soaring above the clouds at night. 

He felt alone, but the good kind of solitude that you could only get by looking at the stars.

“See that one?” Fundy asked, pointing to a particularly bright star. It didn’t really stand out, but once someone pointed it out, it was clearly brighter than the rest. “Pull out your compass.”

Tommy faltered at that statement and grimaced. He really didn’t want to open his compass and be confronted by those photos.

“I don’t really-” Tommy began.

“Just do it,” Fundy commanded.

In a moment of uncharacteristic panic, Tommy rushed to do as he was told, earning a concerned glance from the fox hybrid. The boy paid it no mind as he clicked the brass compass open and several pictures fell out. He scrambled to pick them up, shoving them in his pocket.

“Are you okay?” Fundy asked, his brown eyes shining in the dark.

“Obviously,” Tommy said. For good measure he added, “Bitch.”

The fox hybrid sighed heavily and rolled his eyes again, motioning for Tommy to give him the compass. The boy hesitated, curling it closer to his chest. He didn’t want to give it up. Realistically, he knew Fundy wouldn’t do anything to it, but he couldn’t be too careful these days.

Fundy realized Tommy wouldn’t give up the compass and instead gently took the hand that was holding the brass tool and laid it out flat.

“See the north line?” Fundy asked, pointing to the ‘N’ on the compass.

Tommy nodded and followed the fox hybrid’s finger as it pointed straight ahead, focusing on the bright star in the sky.

“See the star I’m pointing at?” At Tommy’s nod, Fundy continued, “See how it’s exactly north?”

Once again, Tommy nodded.

“That star is called the north star-”

Tommy snorted and interjected, “Real original of a name.”

“Also called Polaris,” Fundy continued pointedly. “It’s the brightest star on the horizon and the easiest to find since it’s due north.”

The winged boy nodded. He already knew this, but never really put much focus on finding the star on the horizon. Philza taught Wilbur the various stars in the sky, so he could find his way without a compass when he left to begin adventuring. Wilbur then taught Tommy and Fundy. Tommy never really learned how to use the information in a practical sense since he settled down pretty quick.

“Yeah,” Tommy responded. “It’s a part of… the Little Dipper, right?”

“Correct!”

“So why are you showing me this?”

Fundy hummed and twitched his ears, suddenly a bit nervous. He gave a short laugh. Tommy noted he was being uncharacteristically shy and gave him a strange look.

“Well, there’s a legend about the north star,” Fundy began. “It’s said that there’s a man personifying the star named Na-gah who climbed to the highest peak of a mountain, only to get stuck in the sky.”

“Sounds lonely,” Tommy said bitterly.

“Lonely, yes,” Fundy said. “But he was never upset. He conquered the mountain despite knowing the danger, hoping one day that someone might join him on that peak. He leads lost travelers home every night so that one day, someone might follow it and find him.”

The winged boy gave a small and astonished laugh, “I never knew you were big into mythology.”

Myths and legends were always more Technoblade’s thing. He never told stories from his life, but instead could tell thousands about people who came before him. Tommy heard Fundy tell stories hundreds of times, but not once did the fox hybrid give any indication of being well read in mythology.

“Yeah, well,” Fundy said while scratching the back of his neck. “Wilbur gave me some of Phil’s old books shortly before the election, as a gift of good will and good luck.”

They both sat there quietly for a moment, listening to the waves and watching the stars. Tommy wondered what other legends Fundy knew, but didn’t ask. Instead, they sat there comfortably enjoying each other’s presence in a way they never did before. Fundy began shuffling like he had something else he wanted to say, but wasn’t sure if he should. Tommy just waited and eventually, he began to speak.

“Back during Schlatt’s Administration,” Fundy began. “I was in a dark place.”

“Dark place?” Tommy asked, prompting the fox hybrid to continue.

“Yeah.” He scratched his neck and twitched his ears as though embarrassed. “I missed you guys quite a bit and although I was respected in a way Wilbur never did… I was alone. I was powerless. My friends were suffering and I couldn’t do anything.”

Tommy nodded. That era was a dark time for everyone. It didn’t matter what your political thoughts were.

“Sometimes, at night, I would…” Fundy hesitated. “I would consider just leaving-” Fundy clenched his fists and continued through gritted teeth- “I was just so angry and so fed up with everything. I was completely and totally useless. I had a position of power, but once again couldn’t use it for anything good.”

Tommy was stunned, not sure what to do. He was about to awkwardly console the hybrid, but Fundy thankfully continued in a softer voice.

“I would spend hours at night, just staring at the sky. Wondering what I should do. What the answer was. Do I stay? Do I fight? Do I leave?” Fundy sighed. “I never really got an answer, but I had a constant in the sky. The north star. I read up on the myth and felt comforted by it. I thought that, maybe, if I found my north star of sorts, I would make it through alright.”

A beat of silence passed where Tommy was once again wondering what to do. He felt touched by the story. He had no idea Fundy was going through so much turmoil, but wished he had paid more attention. He was so wrapped up in his own pain that he didn’t even consider the people he was leaving behind. 

Suddenly, Fundy began to backpedal in an embarrassed stream of words, “But that probably sounds kinda stupid. I don’t know why I shared all that. I kinda suck at giving advice and all that. Not that I think you need advice on anything! Just-”

Tommy stopped his rambling and said, “It’s cool, man. I get it.”

He felt compelled to share something as well. Fundy fixated his sight on the horizon and Tommy closed his compass before tucking it back under his shirt. The north star shone brightly ahead of him and he smiled.

“I kinda feel that way too recently,” Tommy said awkwardly. “Thank you.”

Fundy gave a small laugh and said, “Yeah. No problem.”

They awkwardly sat there for a few minutes, neither really knowing where to go from here. Tommy had to admit, their conversation was nice but now came the part he dreaded the most. They were sitting alone, in the dark, without any cues to go on if they should continue conversation or just move on entirely. Tommy decided to break the silence first.

“So, I guess we have two choices now,” Tommy said. “You could either leave or help me build a secret bunker under Logstedshire.”

Fundy looked faintly surprised but said, “Secret bunker it is.”

Thankfully, Fundy didn’t ask why Tommy needed a bunker nor did he talk much in general, but that was fine in Tommy’s book. He had enough heart to heart conversing to last a year. They just quietly worked throughout the night and built something that Tommy could never build on his own. The trap door neatly blended in and the bunker space was decently sized, lined with smooth stone instead of dirt and cobble. It was a little off brand, but maybe that was for the better.

Fundy left just as the sun was beginning to rise and Tommy had just enough time to deposit his gifts in the basement before Dream arrived. He made sure to keep just enough things in his inventory so he didn’t seem suspicious. Dream’s visit came and went without incident and Tommy was feeling good. Maybe this really was his turning point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter I've ever written. It seems part one of an event in 6k words, but then the second is doomed to be super long.
> 
> I felt bad and got several different people to beta different portions this chapter since this is a super long chapter and I promised violet_sunflowers 6k words or less. This is twice that amount. Whoops!
> 
> If you want to read up on the north star legend that I tweaked a bit, here is is! I had fun reading it.  
> (https://www.firstpeople.us/FP-Html-Legends/WhytheNorthStarStandsStill-Paiute.html)
> 
> As always, I have my tumblr linked in the previous chapter notes where I post updates and stuff. Don't forget to drink water and get some sleep! Stay warm and safe if you're also affected by these winter storms.


	10. The Journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Fundy's tale and desperately bored, Tommy decides to travel northward. But when he gets stuck in an unexpected blizzard, he is at the world's mercy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty! To those of you that follow my Twitter or Tumblr, I know I said I would post this on Friday, but frankly, I got impatient and wanted to post it ASAP. This chapter is a cool 7k words. A nice and easy chapter for your perusal. Next chapter will likely be longer. Also, I might be pushing my 14 day deadline in the next couple months since school is back in full speed.
> 
> Please enjoy!

Tommy was beginning to think that Fundy’s story about the man in Polaris was a sick and sadistic tale to lure unsuspecting travelers to their deaths. The winged boy was feeling pretty good after his successful Christmas party and Fundy’s unexpectedly nice visit, so he decided to toss caution to the wind and explore northward in hopes of getting a vague location of Technoblade. Of course the day he decides to just bite the bullet, a freak snow storm rolls through.

He could’ve sworn that the sky was a cloudless blue when he set off for the night. Tommy could see the north star shining brightly and unobstructed before him and his path was brightly illuminated by torchlight. The northern side of his territory was beautiful as ever. It had frosted the night before, so the grass crunched beneath his feet, but the trees remained light and ice-free. It was a beautiful night.

The wind wasn’t even blowing when he first set off. The day was truly idyllic. 

However, about two hours into his trek, gusts of wind began to blow and a horrible sense of foreboding filled Tommy, making his wings flutter on their own accord. Every instinct was telling him to turn back, but he knew that if a storm were to come, he wouldn't make it back to Logstedshire in time. 

He vaguely remembered a village a couple hours northeast, so he shifted course to find some sort of shelter.

This horrible feeling of dread that had been weighing him down increased as time went on and the night seemed to get darker. He used his wings as a shield to keep the torch from blowing out, but the sharp wind was bitterly cold and felt like it was cutting straight through Wilbur’s old coat. Dark and heavy clouds began to roll in steadily, blotting out every star in the sky and making Tommy’s journey rough and treacherous. 

Gentle flurries and a light, freezing cold drizzle began to fall as Tommy approached the doorstep of a small shopkeep in the village. It snuffed out his torch, but thankfully, his clothes remained dry. His wings would be a nightmare, however. Although they hadn’t gotten soaked, the light snow was enough to cling to his feathers and chill him to the bone.

Thus, Tommy found himself camping out in the back of a small house with his wings spread, his damp feathers facing a fire in the hearth. It was pleasantly warm, but one glance out the window made him shiver. 

The once-dead landscape was now a complete wintery mess with snow still drifting violently in the wind, only visible by the illuminations of the village’s lanterns. It was still dark outside and so Tommy had hope he would be able to return to Logstedshire before Dream arrived. The tyrant knew of Tommy’s journeys, but clearly was not pleased.

Tommy wouldn’t have even left had he known what the weather would be like. The storm had come without much warning, though given Tommy’s previous adventure into the north, he should have expected the sudden change in the weather. His previous voyage had been cut short by a similar storm (though the snow had already cleared up by now). 

Tommy sighed and shifted his wings, allowing the heat to seep through his feathers, the fire catching and reflecting their gold hue. He had always hated the cold. It reminded him a bit too much of the Antarctic Empire and thus brought back memories of his family that he would rather not recall.

Uneven, shuffling footsteps could be heard against the wood floor. Tommy instinctively stiffened and his wings fluttered, spreading instinctually. A hand itched towards the hilt of his iron blade, whose durability was decreasing as the days went by, much to Tommy’s dismay. 

The shop’s keeper came into view as he rounded the corner in his drab cotton cloak. He definitely carried those typical tundra village characteristics in his facial features alone. His darker toned skin was pulled back in a flat face with a protruding nose and deep-set, dark eyes. Dark brown, almost black, hair was worn in a long and low ponytail hanging down his neck. The coat, although dull, looked rather warm with its fur-lined edges and thick weaving.

It was a different shopkeep than before. This could cause some trouble, Tommy realized, as he was just barely able to gain access by offering a few sticks. His inventory was empty otherwise.

He looked surprised to see Tommy, an avian, standing in the lounge area of his little shop. Hybrids were rare in these villages as strangers rarely immigrated to these little civilizations when they could’ve moved to some of the bigger and more organized nations like the SMP. Back in Phil’s adventures, he would sometimes spend weeks or even months holed up in these little villages, though Tommy had never really had a reason to.

It took a moment for the winged boy to realize that the man was trying to speak to him, uttering a series of guttural hums and grunts that Tommy couldn’t even begin to translate.

He suddenly wished he had paid more attention when Phil was trying to teach him the strange language. Techno and Philza were almost fluent in the language since these small villages took up a majority of the areas they subjugated. Wilbur knew a bit, just enough to initiate a trade or avoid a sword through his back, but Tommy was hopeless. He didn’t even have any emeralds on him.

Scraping together the few words he knew, Tommy attempted to grunt out a greeting, but only made a fool of himself as the villager tilted his head, not comprehending what the winged boy said. He hoped didn’t say anything offensive. 

Tommy tried again. He was just trying to say that he didn’t speak the language. The villager hummed back, but it was not a happy sound.

“Okay, maybe not,” Tommy muttered to himself.

He folded his wings to try and appear less threatening while holding out his hands. Tommy gave a hesitant smile and really hoped he wasn’t coming across as offensive. He glanced outside. It was still snowing pretty heavily. He cursed softly under his breath.

In an exaggerated and over enunciated tone, he tried to talk to the villager.

“I-” he gestured to himself- “Don’t mean any-” he made an ‘x’ with his arms while shaking his head- “Harm-” he tapped the hilt of his sword before quickly raising his hands in surrender.

Apparently this was the wrong move because the villager instantly narrowed his eyebrows and grunted out something that definitely didn’t sound friendly. The villager was absolutely abusing Tommy with a string of curses that he did not understand.

“Okay, okay,” Tommy said placatingly, spreading his hands out once more. “I don’t mean any harm.”

The sentiment clearly didn’t translate because the ill-tempered shopkeeper angrily grabbed a broom that was leaning against a nearby wall and began to wield it as a weapon.

“I-” Tommy began to try and defend himself, but at the slightest movement, the villager let out a war cry and began swatting at the boy with his boom.

The winged boy cringed away from the blows as he was herded out of the lounge and towards the exit. Tommy absolutely did not want to be stuck out in the storm and so, he stood firm against the door. The wacks from the broom bristles stopped, but the villager was looking positively murderous. What did he say to make the man so angry?

“Look, man,” Tommy began in a firm tone. “You don’t like me and I don’t like you, but I am hours away from my camp and there is a blizzard outside. I am not leaving yet.”

A beat of silence passed and the winged boy relaxed, thinking his message finally got across to the villager. He breathed a sigh of relief.

He relaxed far too soon as the villager let out another shout and began swatting Tommy once again. Swearing at the man, the boy scrambled for the door knob and twisted it to open outside, the cold wind immediately assaulting him as he was rushed out the door and slammed it shut.

“Fuck you, man!” Tommy shouted. “I don’t need your shitty little store anyway!”

He approached a frost-covered window and brushed away snow with his arm. Cupping his hands around his eyes, he could see inside the warm cabin. His frustration steadily grew and the cold began to sink in. Why did he never bother to learn their language? If he just knew how to say hello, he might’ve been able to stay.

The ill-tempered villager was glaring at him through the glass, tapping the broom handle against the window with a nasty snarl. He could practically hear the litany of curses that the man was muttering. Sighing, Tommy moved away from the window, watching his breath billow in the cold with a shudder.

He hated the cold and now he was stuck in it. Tommy cast his gaze on the cloudy night sky and cursed every single flurry that fell from the heavens. He fluttered his golden wings and folded them around himself, trying to maintain some sort of warmth amidst the freezing cold. Curling himself against an insulated wall, he hunkered down underneath the roofed porch and weighed his options.

Option one was to stay put and wait for the storm to blow over. It was still early winter, just a few days after Christmas, so there was a good chance it would end relatively soon. However, a voice that sounded an awful lot like Phil reminded him that hypothermia snuck up on you. He was protected from the snow aside from a few stray flurries, but the harsh wind was the real danger. 

Tommy was already getting cold again; his wings and Wilbur’s old coat were not enough to keep him warm for long. His Antarctic Empire boots kept his feet warm, but he knew that one sufficient article of clothing would not stave off hypothermia or frostbite. He cursed lightly and wished Fundy had brought other Empire-grade winter clothing. If he had his cloak, he might have been able to make it out alright.

Sighing heavily, Tommy decided that option one was a terrible idea.

Option two was to go door to door, hoping some other villager was feeling kind enough to offer some refuge. He knew that tundra villagers were often ill-tempered and intolerant of strangers due to their isolating climate but he might have a chance. Being inside a house was his best bet. 

However, if no one opened their doors to him, he would have burned precious energy and risked more exposure for nothing. 

The more Tommy considered his options, the more he realized what a dire situation he had let himself get into. Once again, he violently cursed the deceiving sky and declared the north star legend to be one of sadistic hope. 

What was he hoping to find in this expedition, anyways? It was unlikely that Techno’s home was anywhere near here. It was still too temperate and hospitable, he realized with a bitter laugh. His brother’s house was likely the sole structure in the midst of a frozen wasteland, what this current biome was teasing at. He had probably named it ‘Antarctic Empire II’ or something absurd like that.

The winged boy sighed and chanced one more glance inside the window. Sure enough, the villager was still guarding the door. Had Tommy been younger and more impulsive, he would have burst through the door anyways, but he didn’t want to risk getting swatted with anything harsher than broom bristles.

Option two, it would have to be.

Steeling up his nerves, Tommy stood against the wind and began to shuffle across an icy porch to reach the next cabin. Using the pillar as a support, he carefully made his way down the stairs. He felt his feet slipping on the slick surface with every step he took so he tried to aim for the snowy bits so he might be able to get some traction. Falling on ice was the last thing he needed.

He successfully conquered the stairs and reached the ground level, tugging his jacket and wings tighter to himself. A particularly harsh gust of wind blew through the village, almost knocking Tommy off his feet. He stumbled to regain his footing before continuing to walk across the frozen land. Warm lights shone before him through frost-covered windows. The hope that they inspired made him pick up the pace.

After climbing another short flight of stairs, Tommy shuffled across the porch and knocked firmly on the door, his hands beginning to ache from the cold. A small accumulation of ice and snow fell into Tommy’s blonde hair as he knocked, displaced by the disturbance. He waited a few moments but no one answered. He tried again, a bit harder this time in case they didn’t hear him the first time.

With growing restlessness and frustration, the winged boy peered through the window to find a pair of kids, no older than nine, cowering in a corner. One of them shook their head with a pleading fear in their eyes.

Tommy raised his hands in surrender once more, mentally sending an apology their way. He briefly wondered where their parents were and decided he didn’t want to find out.

It was always hard for a hybrid, especially one with bright golden wings, to find shelter amongst these villages. The inhabitants didn’t like outsiders that didn’t bring emeralds and they especially didn’t like strangers arriving in the dead of night in the middle of a storm. Briefly, he considered selling his emerald earring for a place to stay, but a strange sense of connection forced him to overthrow that idea. He had no idea why he had grown so attached to the emerald, but it felt important. It felt safe.

Cursing his sentimentality, he wished he had taken Tubbo’s advice from the very start. He needed to think logically, not emotionally. That didn’t stop him from pulling out his compass at the very thought of Tubbo. The piece of brass felt warm and powerful in Tommy’s grasp; he could feel warmth spread through his arms. He clicked it open and the pictures that Fundy gave him once again fell out. He sighed and picked them up quickly, nervous that they’d blow away in the wind.

Tommy didn’t really want to step out into the cold again and so he decided to look through the pictures he had been avoiding. His day was already ruined so what was one more thing? It couldn’t exactly get worse.

With stiff and uncoordinated movements, his aching fingers slowly unfolded the polaroid photos. The front picture was, of course, the magnificent Christmas tree that everyone in the SMP pitched in to create. 

Tommy guessed it stood about twenty feet tall, roughly the size of a two story building. He huffed a laugh as he remembered the first time he saw that tree. It was the first break he and Wilbur got after several months of wandering the wilderness and hopping from civilization to civilization. It was so dark, but that Christmas tree served almost as a lighthouse and led them directly to the SMP. He hoped he would get to see it again.

This would be the first year in almost a decade that he would miss the tree.

He shifted the photo to the back of the stack. The next picture was a traditional inauguration portrait of Tubbo that hung in the white house. The colors were all amber hued and very old looking even though it was only about a year old. Tubbo looked so much older in that photo, decked out in L’Manberg’s traditional black business suit. Golden braids decorated his shoulder, representing his service in the Revolution.

It looked like Wilbur’s old presidential portrait. The man in the photo didn’t look like Tubbo.

The next picture made Tommy smile in fond remembrance. A lump formed in his throat as he got the sudden urge to cry, but he pushed it back. It was a very familiar and picturesque scene of him and Tubbo leaning on their bench overlooking the valley, laughing and happy. Tommy remembered this day. Wilbur took it because he wanted to build a hall of memories when he was reinstated as president. 

Post Revolution and Pre Election. One of the only true moments of bliss.

The last two pictures were similarly of Tommy and Tubbo just being kids. The one that was taken by firelight during the revolution showed dark bags under their eyes from sleepless nights, but they were still laughing and smiling. The one by the beach showed an almost idyllic scene. Tommy couldn’t really remember that one. Judging by their clothes, he guessed it was way back. Maybe even before the disc war.

Then, he was back at the Christmas tree.

He was honestly a bit proud that he didn’t cry at all while looking at these old pictures. He supposed that having people visit was helping his mental state more than he anticipated. Tommy was feeling pretty good, all things considered.

Smiling, he folded up the photos and held them in one hand while holding his compass in the other. The needle was still pointing stubbornly in front of him. East. Someday, Tommy would find the strength to leave Logstedshire and follow the magnetic pull straight back to Tubbo, his best friend, his brother.

At the thought of seeing Tubbo, Tommy’s smile shifted from one of fond remembrance to one of pain. He wondered if his best friend hurt just as much as he did. He wondered if every slight memory made him wince in pain. He wondered if he saw Tommy in the corners of his eyes. He wondered if every time he turned his head to meet his blue eyes, they faded away into nothing.

He wondered if Tubbo believed he was going mad. He wondered if the compass was the only thing keeping the president sane. Did he check it as obsessively as Tommy did, just for some reminder that he was still alive?

The wind blew fiercely and he shoved the photos back into the compass, locking it shut. The last thing he wanted to do was to lose them. 

Tommy shivered again and curled against a wall of the cabin. He didn’t want to go back out into the snow, but he knew he would need to find some proper shelter if he was to survive this. Folding his wings tightly around him and trying to stuff his head into his coat, he figured he didn’t have to leave right away. Just a few more minutes wouldn’t hurt too badly.

A figure caught his eye from the snow-covered street. Through the spindrift of snow, he could barely make out the outline of a strong and heavy-set horse fighting against the harsh wind at a labored trot, his head pulled to his neck as he snorted irritably. The rider looked equally stocky, an arm clearly raised to shield himself as he drove his steed onward. They must have been insane to ride in this weather.

Peering closer from the safety of the porch, he realized with a jolt that the rider looked eerily familiar and the resemblance shook Tommy to his core. A horrible chill ran down his spine, but it had nothing to do with the blizzard. 

As the man fought the wind, Tommy felt compelled to keep staring though he pressed himself further against the wall, icy fear running through his veins. He began to shake both from the weather and the sheer presence the man commanded. His wings itched to begin twitching, but he felt as though any movement would alert the man to his position, regardless of how clearly preoccupied he was.

His face was obscured and all finer details were lost to the blizzard, but that long pink hair, unruly and windswept in its low ponytail. That was unmistakable. The blue cape that was waving violently in the wind… the insignia… That could only belong to past members or affiliates of the Empire. An Empire that was now gone. His Empire. 

Tommy’s eyes couldn’t help but catch the heavy air of enchantments that followed the man. It was suffocating. 

Technoblade, an inner voice whispered.

His voice betrayed him as he let out a sharp whine of fear. Instantly, he slapped a clammy and shaking hand over his mouth, praying he hadn’t heard him. The wind drowned out his cry and sharp relief flooded him as the man didn’t even glance in his direction. He just kept fighting the wind.

Slowly, Technoblade faded out into the heavy mist of the snow and Tommy couldn't help but feel he had just survived a potentially life-threatening encounter. The winged boy cursed himself out, his words smothered by the wind. How did he think he could handle finding Techno’s home if just seeing the man sent him into a fit?

He was still hyperventilating despite knowing the deranged man had no reason to return. Tommy knotted his cold fingers in his hair, pulling at the filthy blonde locks until pain erupted through his scalp. Gritting his teeth, he agonized over this entire journey. What was he thinking? How could he possibly have thought this would go over well? Even if he found Techno’s house, what did he expect to gain from that knowledge except increase his own paranoia?

“Fuck me,” Tommy bit out into the wind. He repeatedly beat on his head with his fist while still mumbling curses.

He couldn’t believe he was so stupid as to think any phycial reminders of Technoblade spread anything but pure and primal terror through his bones. He knew he couldn’t stay here, crouched like a coward. The boar had a sixth sense for potential enemies within a mile radius so Tommy had little doubt his presence went undetected. Especially with his bright golden wings.

For a moment, he considered tearing them off at the joint. They caused more grief than anything these days.

Tommy shook his head. Like his emerald, there were some things he just couldn’t get rid of even if he wanted to. Sighing and removing his hands from his head, Tommy stood up on shaky legs to begin his long journey back home. The weather was still horrible and he could barely see to the other side of the street, but with no reference of time and knowing Technoblade was in the area, staying here was a death sentence. Either his estranged brother would return to silence him or Dream would surely kill him. 

He supposed dying due to a blizzard would be better than giving either man the satisfaction.

With feet slipping to gain traction on the icy porch, Tommy shuffled over to the steps and carefully stepped down. 

Without the shield of the cabin’s wall, the wind was possibly even harsher than before. On instinct, he spread his wings to keep balance against the wind, but his feathers caught every current and only slowed him down. He forced them to serve an insulating blanket rather than a balance aid. 

He raised an arm against the wind and struggled with every step as he walked straight into the freezing wind. Flurries caught on his feathers, coat, and hair. He would be soaked once he had the chance to thaw out. If he got the chance, that is.

Tommy expelled the thought from his head. He would be fine, he told himself. The storm was still bad, but it was easing up ever so slightly. It still hurt to open his eyes against the harsh wind and he barely had any feeling in his fingers, but he could at least fight against the wind and slowly make his way back home. Hopefully, the weather wasn’t nearly as bad in Logstedshire. The climate at his camp had slowly gotten colder since Christmas and he was getting used to waking up to a light accumulation of frost, but Logstedshire had yet to see snow.

Knowing how the universe loved to laugh at Tommyinnit, he supposed it would be perfectly on brand for the first day of snow to be the one in which he was seeking refuge from it.

His light blue Antarctic Boots sunk into the snow and the frost clung to the fabric. The star insignia was completely lost amidst the white and the slots of the golden chain were caked with snow. Wilbur’s old coat was not near adequate protection from the freezing cold, but for some reason, he felt alright. 

The brass compass that was tucked under his shirt must’ve had some heating properties, unless the sheer amount of enchantments made it warm to the touch. Tommy knew that heavily enchanted armor and weapons generally also produced quite a bit of heat due to the amount of magic compacted in such a condensed area. He didn’t know if the compass had enough enchantments to warrant such an affect, but he was grateful for it nontheless.

The warmth spread from his chest to his fingertips, not eliminating the bitter pain of exposure to freezing temperatures, but just warm enough so he didn’t become hypothermic. Briefly, Tommy mused if this was why all the Antarctic soldiers were decked out in fully enchanted armor.

Such a phenomena with heat and enchantments made enchanted armor a great danger in the nether. While the additional heat was fine in the overworld, the supernatural sauna that was the fiery realm made even a degree of additional heat near unbearable. 

Tommy couldn’t even imagine the heat of the nether while in this freezing wasteland. Seriously, why did he think even walking in the vague direction of Technoblade would be fine? It’s not like he was a wanted war criminal. It’s not like he betrayed all of L’Manberg. It’s not like he blew it up. It’s like he caused Tommy’s exile.

As if he couldn’t get any colder, Tommy’s blood froze in his veins. A sick sense of realization flooded him.

It wasn’t Tommy’s fault at all that he was exiled. People still visited him and liked him. That served as living proof. No, it was all Technoblade’s fault! He was the one that caused Tubbo to be all jumpy and scared. He was the one that made Tommy feel comfortable with the idea of violence. It was his fault. Him and his influence. No one visited Technoblade. No one even knew where he lived.

People know where Tommy lives. People care about him in a way they could never care about Technoblade. 

Too caught up in his thoughts, Tommy stumbled and spread his wings to regain balance, but lost the fight and ended up falling face first into the snow. The cold seeped into his face and his already freezing nose began to throb due to the impact. Groaning, he pushed himself off the ground and stiffly shook out his hair with very numb hands. Still lying on the ground, Tommy wished he had never left Logstedshire. This was a pointless quest anyways.

“Tommy!” 

The boy froze all movements as a voice sounded against the wind. They kept calling out his name over and over, increasingly louder and closer. 

Tommy contemplated burying himself in the snow in order to hide from whoever was calling out to him, but decided that such movement might attract them to him. Pulling his wings tightly against himself, he prayed his golden feathers didn’t stand out too much.

His mind immediately began to race and wonder who this person was. His knee jerk reaction was to assume it was Dream given the man’s clinginess and obsession with him. He caught the faint whiff of gunpowder off of Wilbur’s coat and it almost suffocated him, making his heart cease. Tommy screwed his eyes shut and grit his teeth, affirming that there was no reason for Dream to be out here.

If Dream caught him outside of Logstedshire, he would surely lose his last life. He could feel the netherite pressing to his neck-

Forcing his face into the snow, he brought himself back to the present and back to his internal musings of who this mystery man is.

“Tommy!” the voice called out.

His second guess was Technoblade, yet another lethal option. He knew the piglin hybrid was in the area and he was a fool to think he hadn’t seen him with all his bright plumage. Tommy desperately tried to get a feel for the area, to see if any enchantments hung in the air, but it was too cold. He couldn’t feel anything.

The winged boy grit his teeth and waited for the inevitable. If he was to die here, that would just have to be it. Maybe that’s why the north star led him out here. It led him here to die.

He closed his eyes and flinched heavy when he felt a presence looming over him. Trying to appear dead, maybe they would leave him alone if there weren’t any signs of life. Holding his breath and willing his pounding heart to quiet down, he waited until an incredibly strong grip grabbed on his shoulder. 

Tommy gasped despite himself, clearly showing that he was alive. Fear coursed through his veins once more, but he was still tired from his previous bout of panic. His arms shook and instinctually tightened to his sides while his wings gave a weak flutter against the snow. He was so cold. He wanted to turn and fight but he was frozen both by exposure and by fear.

He hated being scared.

“Tommy,” Dream said a surprisingly calm tone.

Tommy flinched, fully expecting a harsh barrage of threats to leave the masked man or to feel a netherite blade to the back of his neck, but nothing came. Just a quiet, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Worried for a moment that he was going mad and mistaking Dream’s voice for someone else, the winged boy relaxed and the hand on his shoulder released it’s grip. Slowly getting up with stiff legs, Tommy turned around with an incredulous look on his face. He couldn’t believe what he saw. He fully expected to see Dream standing there with a condescending or threatening pose, netherite axe drawn casually against his shoulder. 

But, no. The masked man held no contempt in his stance. His axe wasn’t even visible, presumably tucked away in his inventory. Instead, he held out a dark green cloak that Tommy could’ve sworn he saw him wear during the Revolution. Black bits of singed cloth adorned the edges of the cloak.

Tommy stared at Dream with an almost blank stare, gaping slightly at the odd sight. The masked man shook the cloak slightly in his grip, motioning for him to take it.

Instead, the winged boy took a step back, wings beginning to flare in apprehension.

“What are you…” Tommy began before trailing off, unable to distinguish if he was hallucinating or not.

Dream sighed and tossed the cloak at Tommy, who caught it on reflex. The winged boy wrinkled his nose at the offering, contemplating dropping it into the snow. He didn’t want anything of Dream’s. He didn’t want to be pitied. 

But the cloak felt thick and heavy in Tommy’s grasp. He shivered despite himself, feeling colder than he had in all his life. Even in the Antarctic Empire, he was always well dressed for the harsh climate. The tips of his ears felt frozen solid and his nose was running ever so slightly. 

Reluctantly and with a look of wary confusion, Tommy pulled the dark green cloak over his shoulders and wings before pinning it securely at his chest. He put the hood over his head and instantly felt an insulating warmth. The wind was barely an annoyance while wearing this. He could feel it beating against the thick material, but no cold gusts ripped through it like Wilbur’s coat had allowed. The scent of gunpowder was thick from the slightly singed material.

Unsure of what to do, Tommy was caught between thanking Dream and complete silence. He didn’t want to give the man the satisfaction, but he also didn’t want to be rude. Tommy indecisively twitched his wings, which were constricted by the material. Unlike Wilbur’s avian-designed coat, this cloak did not allow for free movement of his wings. Not that it really mattered right now anyways. He couldn’t fly if he wanted to.

“Tommy,” Dream after a moment of tense and uncomfortable silence. “Come with me.”

The winged boy glared at him warily and said with slight trepidation, “Where to?”

Tommy felt horrible awkward as Dream began to walk away from him in the snow. He didn’t get an answer and he was slightly kicking himself because it was obvious where they were going. He was just completely blindsided by Dream’s behavior. 

The blizzard had calmed slightly and he felt much better in this thicker cloak, but he couldn’t help but feel suffocated. Was this another favor? Was this a gift? What did Dream want from him? He was tempted to shrug off the cloak and just walk back on his own, but that would be pointless as Dream was going to the same place. They were going to Logstedshire anyways.

The winged boy pulled the cloak tighter around himself and ran up to walk next to Dream, who refused to even look at him. He felt awful tendrils of guilt crawl up his spine, making his wings shift subconsciously under the fabric. Why did he feel guilty? He had no reason to be. He didn’t explicitly break a rule. So what if Dream was made at him? He shouldn’t care.

He shouldn’t, but that didn’t stop this horrible guilty conscience.

“So! Big D!” Tommy exclaimed loudly. “How’s uh… How’s life?”

Dream didn’t respond and just kept walking like he didn’t hear the winged boy. Tommy laughed and said, “Yeah yeah. I get that.”

The awkwardness in the air was stifling. Tommy felt as though he did something wrong when he knew that he didn’t really break any rules. He was fine. He was sure that after a few more attempts at conversation, Dream would forget all about why he was upset.

“How’s Gogy?” Tommy asked.

Dream shrugged and just kept walking. The pressure grew.

“How’s, uh…” Tommy began awkwardly. “Any girls?”

Once again, the tyrant just kept walking through the snow.

“Any interesting… books?” Tommy asked. “New wars?”

“Tommy,” Dream said in a terse voice.

“Yeah?”

He did not receive a response. Wringing his hands together nervously and pursing his lips together, Tommy looked askance. He felt as though he should apologize. Dream still hasn’t even looked at him. They walked a few steps in complete silence, Dream with tense movements and Tommy shuffling awkwardly beside him. He let himself lag behind a couple steps before bounding forward with a horrible question on his mind.

“Dream, I-” Tommy began, his voice catching in his throat. He cleared it before saying, “Are you upset?”

He hated how tentative he sounded. He shouldn’t feel bad for leaving at night. He absolutely shouldn’t. This was not his fault and yet he felt so guilty. Tommy blamed his paranoia and more timid nature on simply being sheepish about needing the man’s coat, but for some reason it felt deeper. Like he owed Dream something even though he knew he didn’t owe the man a thing.

What’s worse is that the masked man didn’t even answer. It was as if he didn’t even hear him though Tommy knew he did. He heard everything. Why was Dream ignoring him?

He never knew this was a problem he would have. The past few weeks, he’s been trying to get Dream to be quiet and leave him, but now that it happened? It just feels wrong. It feels like his fault. Why did he care so much? It’s not like he cares about him. It’s not like they’re friends. The very notion was absurd!

So why did he feel so awful?

“C’mon, Big D!” Tommy shouted playfully. “What’s the matter, huh? You can tell ‘ol Tommyinnit!”

He continued to poke and prod and test his boundaries, wanting Dream to snap and tell him to shut up. To get him to say anything. Anything other than this awful, all-consuming silence. But, nothing even seemed to reach the man until Tommy jeered in an exaggerated tone, “Don’t pretend like you actually care.”

At this, Dream stopped walking, forcing Tommy to stumble in order to reverse his momentum. The tyrant clenched his fists and looked at the blonde boy, stiffness in every muscle. Tommy was sure that he was snarling under that mask. The aura he gave off was positively furious. Nervously, Tommy laughed slightly and took a step back, wings fluttering under the fabric.

They just stood for a couple minutes, Tommy contemplating tossing off the cloak because he needed to breathe and Dream just staring. Every fiber was telling him to take off. To bolt, to fly. His wings were buzzing with energy and he felt the intense need to put as much distance between him and Dream as possible, but he kept still. Something was telling him to not move.

“That-” Dream began in a clipped tone, “is not fair.”

“What?” Tommy asked defensively.

The tyrant sighed harshly and threw his hands in the air. Tommy flinched back, but immediately took his ground once more. He had no reason to be afraid, he told himself.

“For weeks, Tommy,” Dream began. “For weeks, I have done nothing but care for you! You are my friend!” Huffing and in a lower tone, he added, “At least… that’s what I thought. I guess I was wrong.”

Incredulously, the winged boy shot back, “Does a friend blow up someone’s things?! Does a friend clip someone’s fucking wings?”

Dream held up a finger, motioning for the boy to stop speaking. He opened his mouth a couple times, trying to formulate a sentence that never came. Tommy scoffed and couldn’t believe that he was actually going to defend himself. No matter what Dream said, he knew that he had the moral high ground. Tommy was the victim here. 

That didn’t stop his guilt from growing as the silence prolonged.

In a small and angry voice, Dream said, “Do you know what I did this morning, Tommy?”

“I don’t care.”

Dream continued anyways as he said, “I woke up- before the sun- to see you. I woke up this morning and immediately went to see you. You wanna know why?”

Tommy didn’t get a chance to respond this time.

“Because I knew you hated being alone,” Dream said. “I was worried about you because Ghostbur wasn’t around and what do I find when I walk through that portal? I found an abandoned camp. You weren’t there. Do you know how terrifying that is?”

“Why do you even care?” Tommy grumbled.

“You could've been dead!” Dream exclaimed in an uncharastically loud voice, his breath misting in the cold, making it so the words hung in the air. “Or you could’ve been kidnapped or hurt or who even knows what else?!”

The winged boy was struck by this. Did the tyrant actually worry about these things? Is this the true reason why he visited him every day? Because he is worried?

No, Tommy told himself. The very notion was absurd. Dream has made it abundantly clear a thousand times over that he didn’t care about anything. He saw it before. Standing beside obsidian walls, holding up the hide of his dead horse. This man admitted, in front of his closest confidants, that he didn’t care about any of them. Dream didn’t care about anyone.

So why was he acting like this?

“Don’t you feel even slight remorse?” the tyrant asked in what sounded like desperation.

Once again, the winged boy just stood there, dumbfounded as to why he should feel sorry in the first place. He didn’t mean to get caught in a blizzard. It wasn’t his fault that rules weren’t clearly defined. Tommy couldn’t have known that it was against the rules to walk out of the bounds of Logstedshire.

Shaking his head in frustration, Tommy reminded himself that he was exiled. He didn’t belong to Dream. That man had no bearing on what the boy did. The only control he had was exercised through force and not by legal obligation. Tommy was still a free man.

So why did he still feel guilty?

When Tommy didn’t respond to Dream’s outburst, the man sighed and waved a hand, simply motioning for the winged boy to follow. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Dream said bitterly. “Let’s just go.”

The winged boy twitched his wings under the cloak and pulled it tighter around himself while stumbling against the wind to follow Dream. He was so horribly confused. He didn’t know why he felt so guilty. He didn’t know why he actually cared. When did he start caring about what Dream thought?

Tommy decided, like Dream said, that it didn’t matter. He simply focused on the cold and following the tyrant’s sure steps out of the worsening storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty! As usual, violet_sunflowers beta'd this chapter, but I have a new beta on hand! Their Ao3 name is weavability and I am glad to have them on board. With two betas at the helm, I will be unstoppable.
> 
> I am also extremely excited to announce that we have fanart for this fic!   
> @itsrinbabey has made fanart for Chapter Two on twitter: https://twitter.com/itsrinbabey/status/1363264579476860929  
> lowfatmilk has made fanart for Chapter Three on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/p/CLeWkHrlzCw/?igshid=f7rfzecbz2h2
> 
> Please check them out and if you have any fanart, I would absolutely love to see it. If you wouldn't mind, please tag any fanart with @ClippedWingsFanart on any platform. Thank so much for your support.
> 
> Please make sure you drink water and sleep well. I hope to see you next chapter <3 (Also, don't be afraid to reach out of my social media which should be on a separate end notes. I love to say hi)


	11. The Blame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy struggles with his growing guilt and is unsure of how to process all the changes in his life. No one was visiting and although Ghostbur has a plan, will it just do more harm than good?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! So! I know this is a tad late, but calc has been crazy and I've done nothing but math these past few days. This chapter comes out to around 12k words... That is absurd. I am super excited to release this into the wild!
> 
> cw: Dream manipulation and mentions of a panic attack.

The trek back to Logstedshire proved to be a long and arduous journey, but not so much due to the weather, rather due to the complete and suffocating silence between Tommy and Dream. This was not due to a lack of trying, however, as the winged boy attempted several times to attract the masked man's attention to no avail. He might as well have been speaking to a brick wall.

One could mistake the complete silence on Dream's end as a result of the harsh wind drowning out the boy's voice, but Tommy knew better. Dream heard everything. 

Evidence of his acknowledgment could be found in the tightening of his jaw, just visible from below the thick and impassive mask. His shoulders were hard set in a firm line the entire journey and every now and again, he would shake his head ever so slightly.

Tommy was almost relieved as the dense spruce forest they had been battling through thinned out to a familiar plains area just north of his camp. A sense of wonder filled the boy as he glanced across the frostbitten landscape. The dormant grass poked through a blanket of fresh, untouched snow, beige and brittle against an impossibly white field. Small ridges on an otherwise level white field were created by the ever-blowing wind.

Despite himself, he smiled wildly against the cold, ignoring the sting on his nose and cheeks from the exposure. 

He hadn't seen snow this pure since he lived in the Antarctic Empire, which, for all its traffic, constantly replaced the disturbed and blackened landscape with a new sheet of snow and ice each night. In L'Manberg, the snow was constantly trodden on and rarely stuck around for more than a couple days as the more temperate climate gave it a very limited lifespan.

This field, however, would remain as untouched as he and the sun allowed. He felt giddy and almost completely forgot about the man who was leading him. 

Dream sunk into the snow without much thought, the white powder sinking up to the laces of his boots as he powered forth in a sour and sullen manner. His hands were hidden within his cloak and his windblown, sandy hair caught spare snowflakes that continued to drift in the easing wind. 

Tommy, on the other hand, tore off Dream's old cloak and took a flying leap out of the bushes, and landed heavily in the snow, causing clumps of packed snow to launch into the air. He spread his wings and ran into the wind, easily overtaking Dream's steady march as he bounded across the field. He spread his arms out wide, parallel with his golden feathers as he stumbled across hidden ditches and imperfections in the land.

He almost felt free amongst the snow as the wind played with his wings and tousled his hair as though it were greeting an old friend. Oh, how easy it would've been to completely forget about Dream and answer the wind's call, leaping into the gale and taking flight to soar in the steady current.

Of course, he was all too aware of the fact that he was grounded, but his heart longed to enjoy the day as flurries ceased to fall and the wind calmed to a gentle breeze.

"Dream!" Tommy exclaimed with child-like energy. "Look at all this snow!"

The masked man continued to walk onward, not even sparing the boy a glance as he dully responded, "Yeah, I see it. We've been fighting through it all day."

"But just look at it!" Tommy urged, ignoring the pang of being pushed aside. "It's all so perfect and untouched!"

"Until we walked on it," Dream muttered.

The winged boy looked back at their footsteps but felt very little guilt as he bounded across the field to walk beside the masked man.

"Maybe we could invite people over and have a snowball fight," Tommy mused.

Dream scoffed and said, "Believe it or not, most people have more important things to do than enjoy the snow."

"You don't need to be a dick about it."

The masked man just shrugged and continued walking onward, clearly not interested in having any sort of conversation with the boy. Tommy felt extremely frustrated by this behavior. Just a few days ago, he would have been ecstatic that the man finally grew bored of him, but today it felt wrong. It felt like he did something wrong.

Dream's behavior made absolutely no sense to Tommy. Most days, when he was upset, he would be quiet and sullen for a few minutes before bouncing back into his usual annoying self. The winged boy could have passed his prolonged sour mood as a result of the weather, but they were out of the blizzard and the weather was absolutely gorgeous. There was no reason for Dream to be upset unless he was upset at Tommy himself.

The winged boy shook his head. It wasn't as though he cared about Dream. He really couldn't care less about the inner workings of that man's mind. He didn't even care if Dream liked him. He knew that the man hated him anyway. Why else would he lobby for Tommy's exile? Why else would he blow up Tommy's things? Why else would he clip his wings?

Tommy clenched his fists at the subconscious reminder of his wings. He didn't care about that tyrant. He was an enemy and that's all there was to it.

For some reason, however, the guilt did not subside. It continued to pang against his ribs and claw its way up to his throat. He didn't even know why he felt guilty. Dream claimed he was upset because he was worried, but that was simply a lie. Dream didn't care about Tommy and that was a fundamental truth.

Maybe he was angry that the boy left without him knowing, thus undermining his power. But then why would Tommy have any reason to feel guilty about that? He loved undermining Dream's authority. Back in L'Manberg, it was practically an act of patriotism.

He did not feel bad about taking away Dream's control. 

For some reason, this statement did not put Tommy at ease. He would never feel guilty about refusing to comply with tyranny. That was something integral to his being. 

So why did he still feel so awful about Dream's personal problem?

Suddenly, he became aware of the man's dark green, singed cloak in his inventory. The only other explanation was that he disliked taking handouts. This was another integral aspect of his being, but it had never bothered him so much before. He hated pity and maybe that's what this cloak represented.

“Hey, Dream,” Tommy said to get the man’s attention.

Rather predictably, the man didn’t say anything in response, but Tommy knew he heard him. He really wished they could just talk like normal people, but Dream didn’t seem too willing to spare any words. Guilt continued to gnaw at the boy and so he summoned the cloak from his inventory and held it out as though it contained the plague.

“You can take this back.”

Dream stopped walking and stared at the cloak before waving a hand and saying, “Keep it.”

Every muscle inside Tommy screamed at this. Why couldn’t the tyrant just take it back? He clearly didn’t want it. He wouldn’t lie and say it wouldn’t come in handy when the temperature really dropped, but this cloak felt dangerous, much like the nether portal and his iron tools did. Every gift of Dream’s meant a favor and debt was being driven higher.

“I don’t want it,” Tommy insisted. “You take it back.”

Dream wasn’t hearing any of it, however, and just continued walking. A new sense of desperation began to claw its way through the winged boy. The cloak felt hot in his hands and his skin itched where the fabric met it. Tommy wearing the article of clothing was a temporary measure based on necessity. 

“Dream, please!” the boy pleaded, wings spreading behind him in an attempt to catch his attention. When the man just continued walking, Tommy grabbed onto the sleeve of Dream’s cloak.

“What?!” the man shouted, whirling around to face the boy. “Why does this even matter?”

Tommy wanted to shout back. He wanted to say the truth, that he didn’t trust Dream, but something kept him tongue-tied. For some inexplicable reason, he felt that if he said anything, he would get in trouble. He was even further confused by the fact that he was even scared of this in the first place. Tommy tested Dream millions of times and yet this one time, this one critical time, he couldn’t.

Noticing the boy’s inner turmoil, Dream sighed and said, “Can you just tell me why you don’t want it? I don’t want you to freeze for your pride’s sake.”

This one addition brought Tommy’s confusion and frustration to a whole other level. Why was Dream so hot and cold today? One minute, he’s worried about Tommy’s wellbeing. This alone would be strange, but it was an increasingly common occurrence, much to the boy’s suspicion. Then the next, he’s completely shut down and uncaring. 

“I don’t understand,” Tommy said with fistfuls of hair in his hands.

“What do you mean?” Dream extended a hand to touch the boy’s shoulder, but Tommy forced it away with a slap of his hand.

The winged boy growled and shouted, “Because I can’t fucking keep up! Do you care or not? Do you hate me or not? I never know! You are constantly changing and it is-” his voice caught in his throat, prematurely stopping his rant.

“Tommy.”

The boy refused to look up and face Dream. He never knew who he would be looking at. Was it the vicious tyrant that subjugated his friends? Was it the man who called for his exile for little to no reason? Or was it a whole new Dream? The one that pretended to care. The one that could almost convince Tommy he did.

A hand pressed on Tommy’s shoulder before he could knock it away. He wasn’t sure if when he looked up he would see a netherite blade or just a stupid mask. He refused to look.

“I have always cared,” Dream said firmly. “I don’t know why you’re scared-”

“I’m not fucking scared of you,” Tommy cut in, looking up to reach Dream’s mask in a defiant glare.

“You are,” Dream enforced with a tightened grip. “But I am trying to change that. I’m trying to be a good friend to you, Tommy.”

“Don’t bother,” Tommy spat. 

If the masked man was operating by the same rules that Tommy had grown used to, he would silently raise his netherite axe and threaten the boy until he stopped objecting. He refused to play by Dream’s rules today. Today, he’s been freezing, confused, and tired. He would not entertain the masked man today.

Dream never raised an axe, however. He simply raised a hand and sighed heavily in exhaustion.

“I only want what’s best for you.”

Tommy was dumbfounded and, honestly, a little scared. His wings fluttered apprehensively and his feet shuffled in the snow. He took a step back, eyeing the man with weariness and caution.

The man seemed to be in a better mood than he had earlier. He was tempted to ask why Dream was so angry when he found Tommy. The winged boy had a hunch, but couldn’t be sure due to the new rules Dream seemed to be playing by. Guilt still gnawed deep with the boy, practically eating him alive. He didn’t know why he felt guilty. He didn’t want any sort of friendship with this man, so why did his happiness mean anything to him? It shouldn’t. It didn’t.

Still, Tommy figured he couldn’t possibly add to his confusion so he asked, “Why were you so upset earlier?”

The question hung heavily in the air. For a moment, Tommy was sure that the man would just ignore him again, but to his surprise, the man actually graced him with a response.

“I was worried,” he answered simply.

“You have no fucking right to be,” Tommy spat.

Dream sighed once more and removed the hand from Tommy’s shoulder. He wordlessly took the cloak that was dangling from the boy’s hand and folded it before stowing it away in his inventory. He seemed to have given up. He turned around and continued walking to Logstedshire, whose oak walls were visible on the horizon.

Tommy should feel victorious. He won this spat and got the final word. That should be all that mattered.

And yet, he only felt worse.

They silently trudged through the snow back to Logstedshire. Dream had this strange, defeated air about him as though he were a parent of a, particularly hard-to-handle child. The winged boy huffed. No one asked the man to pretend to be friends with Tommy. Although he was a good actor, he couldn’t fool Tommyinnit.

This didn’t mean that the boy didn’t feel terribly guilty over pushing Dream away. He knew what it felt like to have a friend reject you. And now, just like Tubbo and just like his wings, Tommy was taking Dream for granted and hurting him.

Tommy shook his head violently, flurries falling from his blonde hair. He made a full stop, not that Dream noticed. 

Both instances of Tubbo leaving him and his wings being clipped were direct results from the tyrant’s actions. He was not worthy of even the slightest bit of sympathy. Tommy didn’t owe that man a single thing. Not his obedience, not his forgiveness, and certainly not his friendship. He was increasingly troubled about how he kept forgetting these fundamental facts. Dream was not worthy of forgiveness and thus, Tommy did not deserve to feel guilty.

Firm in his resolution, the winged boy marched past Dream with a defiant air about him. He kept his golden wings in a relaxed fold and tried his best to show that their argument didn’t bother him in the slightest.

Tommy reached Logstedshire a little before Dream and so he took a moment to appreciate the scenery.

It was the same old Logstedshire, but a very slight amount of snow dusted the sand and grass. There was significantly less than the neighboring field, but just enough so everything felt insulated and quiet. His tent was falling heavily on its stakes, the wood being uprooted from the dirt due to the weight. He didn’t really care much, however. He had a more secure structure he slept in these days.

Logstedshire proper had clumps of snow caught between patches of rough wood that hadn’t been sheared properly and his planks almost certainly accumulated a bit of ice, but at least he knew his cot was dry and safe from the weather. 

As he was about to enter the log structure, Tommy heard a familiar and almost frantic voice call out.

“Tommy!” Ghostbur shouted, rounding the corner of Logstedshire. “Where have you been?! I’ve been worried sick!”

The ghost looked quite worse for wear. His muted brown hair was tousled as though he’d been wringing his hands through it. His wings were ruffled in their fold, several feathers out of place. His sweater even looked ragged. What was most concerning, however, was the patches of translucent skin that looked as though they had been melted away. Jagged little windows that cut through the ghost to the world behind him.

Tommy was quite disturbed and so he ignored Ghostbur’s question with one of his own.

“What the hell happened to you?” the winged boy asked in a high pitch.

"What happened to me?" Ghostbur repeated incredulously. "I wandered out in the snow for hours searching for you! Where have you been?!"

The boy was taken aback by this declaration. Snow and rain were extremely dangerous for the ghost's delicate form and this mission to find Tommy could have been a final death sentence. Ghostbur must have known this.

Tommy furrowed his brows and asked, "Why would you go out in the snow?"

The ghost simply looked at the boy with the most deadpanned expression he could muster. He did not look amused by Tommy's constant deflection and began to tap his foot irritably, wings puffing out behind him. If Tommy didn't know any better, he'd say his brother was actually angry, but Ghostbur didn't get angry. Not like Wilbur did.

A pang of grief shot through the boy, but he pushed it back along with his guilt.

"I was bored and fancied a walk," Tommy said. "I didn't know this was such a crime."

"It is when there's a blizzard!"

"I didn't know there would be a blizzard!"

"You could have died."

"So could you!"

Ghostbur pressed his lips together as though he wanted to say something, but thought better of it. He withdrew blue dye from his inventory and began rubbing it between his fingers, staining them a bright cerulean. After a moment, he appeared to calm down and said in a very measured tone, "I thought I lost you."

The same terrible sense of guilt that Tommy had been repressing ever since his encounter with Dream immediately resurged in horrible and unforgiving waves. If it was just the Dream that was concerned, he could brush it off as the man being his typical controlling self. But with a soft accusation like that? How could Tommy dismiss it?

"No-" Tommy began, backing up a step with wide eyes and wings unfurled. "I- I just- Ghostbur, you know I-"

He tried to mount a good defense, but the words did not arrive. No defense could excuse this. Tommy didn't exactly know what he did wrong, but he knew that he just upset the only person that reliably stood with him.

"Tommy, I'm not upset-" Ghostbur looked askance, not quite able to reach the boy's eyes- "I was just so worried! I asked you to be more careful. Do you remember that?"

The boy nodded frantically and said, "Yes! But-"

The ghost cut him off as he said, "Hundreds of times, I've asked you to just take care of yourself, but you keep finding yourself in these situations and... and I-" he paused for a moment- "I just can't protect you."

Oh.

Tommy made the shocking realization that Ghostbur wasn't angry at him for doing anything in particular. He was mad at himself. He was mad because Tommy went out into the wilderness and could have died and he wasn't there. 

This realization didn't make the boy feel any better. If anything, it just made him feel worse. 

He stood there for a moment, Ghostbur still looking away and furiously rubbing the dye between his fingers. He wondered if the holes in his skin hurt. He wondered if he should blame himself for them. Tommy just didn't know what to do. For the first time, people weren't mad at him. Rather, he made them mad at themselves and he didn't know what to do with that.

"I'm sorry," Tommy said after a long pause. It didn't quite feel like enough and so he repeated in a small voice, "I'm sorry..."

Suddenly, he was wrapped in an icy cold hug and he didn't have it in him to push him away. He didn't think he could even if he wanted to. His brother held tightly onto him as though he might disappear. Tommy stood there dumbly for a couple moments before wrapping his arms around the ghost and burying his face in the ghost's shoulder.

His brother always had a strange presence since his death. He was there, but at the same time, he wasn't. Tommy could feel the pressure, but none of the warmth. He could cling to him but feel none of the familiarity.

He didn't really like ghostly hugs, but he could tell Ghostbur was upset and he didn't know what to do. So he just let the ghost hold him.

"I just don't want to lose you," Ghostbur said quietly, staining Tommy's coat with blue dye.

Before Tommy could respond, Dream cut in, "I couldn't have said it any better myself."

Instantly, the boy broke away from his brother and whirled around to face the tyrant. He stood there, leaning against a tree, making a spectacle of the touching moment between him and Ghostbur. That wasn't for anyone else to see.

But more than that, Tommy felt cornered.

In front of him was his brother, a broken husk of a man who had been forced to walk in the snow to find Tommy's potential corpse regardless of the weather. To his side was Dream, the tyrant who seemed intent on pretending to be Tommy's friend regardless of how hard he pushed back. He was between two people that he had disappointed today.

The guilt threatened to overwhelm him.

In a surprisingly soft voice, Dream added, "We just care. We're not upset. We were just worried."

There was no escape from this and Tommy's golden wings flared subconsciously as his eyes darted to the sky, looking for an escape he knew he couldn't take. He wanted to run away. He didn't want to face this. It took him entirely too long to push back the guilt Dream instilled and Ghostbur's tearful admission didn't make things any easier.

Dream stood there as though he was expecting something.

Instantly, it clicked in his head that Tommy was forgetting their daily ritual. He hated this practice and it left a sour taste in his mouth each time he was forced to comply, but right now, he was looking for anything to do that could lessen the guilt. Some sort of familiarity that he could grasp onto.

Tommy approached Dream and waited for a second. When the man didn't begin digging a hole, he assumed that he wanted the boy to dig it himself. And so, he brought out his iron shovel and struck the earth, tearing through a thin layer of ice and snow.

Above him, Dream scoffed.

"Forget it," the masked man said.

The boy actually let out a small whine as he stared up at Dream in dismay. They did this almost every single day except for special events. There was nothing special about today aside from the sheer confusion the day's events caused.

Desperate for the man to forgive him, Tommy took out a collection of random items he had gathered such as spare iron ingots and the remnants of the chicken Bad had given him a few weeks ago.

Dream shook his head and said, "No. Not today."

"What?" Tommy pleaded. "Why?!"

"Does it matter?" 

"Dream, I-"

"Nope!" the masked man said, cutting him off before turning to walk towards the nether portal. "I'm not dealing with this."

"Wait!" Tommy shouted, but the man did not turn around.

Dream continued walking until he stepped onto the ice-slicked obsidian surface before disappearing from view. Tommy had half a mind to chase after him, but then had to remind himself that he shouldn't care what Dream thought. For some reason, with each rejection, this truth was becoming harder and harder to uphold.

Sighing heavily, already tired and done for the day despite it being young, Tommy turned back to Logstedshire and entered the building. Throughout his interaction with Dream, Ghostbur had been busying himself by taking down various Christmas decorations.

"Hey, Ghostbur," Tommy greeted in a tired voice, running a hand over his face.

Maybe he could restart today and pretend as though none of this ever happened. He didn't wander off to try and find Techno. His expedition didn't completely fail. He didn't worry Ghostbur. He didn't upset Dream. Everything was fine and this very second was a new start. Tommy already passed his turning point. From here on out, he will be better.

"Hey, Tommy," the ghost greeted with slight wariness in his tone. "How was Dream?"

The winged boy twitched his wings and said, "He's fine."

Ghostbur evidently noticed his slight nervousness and stopped fiddling with the lights strung around Logstedshire to stand next to his brother. Tommy sighed while the ghost looked at him with the utmost patience. Ghostbur seemed to forgive him for worrying him earlier, but caution still showed in the way his hand twitched like he wanted to place it on Tommy's shoulder but thought better of it.

"I'm sorry for getting a bit upset earlier," Ghostbur said. "I promise I'm not upset anymore. You can tell me what's on your mind."

Tommy gave a small smile which seemed to encourage his older brother. He missed the old Wilbur who always knew exactly what to say without any input from Tommy. They would have whole conversations without really speaking to one another.

They were simply of the same mind. They always have been.

Ghostbur was different and Tommy loved him in a separate way that he loved Wilbur, but today? He needed Wilbur. Maybe he could just pretend things weren't so complicated for just a second. Maybe Ghostbur could be Wilbur for just a moment. Just a conversation.

God, he missed Wilbur.

Pushing back his grief and that ever-present lump in his throat, Tommy said, "Dream is mad at me, but I don't exactly know why. I don't know what I did so I can't fix it."

Ghostbur hummed thoughtfully before saying, "Have you asked him what's wrong?"

"Yeah."

"Well, what did he say?"

"Just a bunch of lies," Tommy spat without any true venom. "Kept saying how he cared, how I was his friend, how I worried him-" the boy scoffed- "As if I was dumb enough to actually believe that."

"I thought Dream was your friend?" Ghostbur pushed.

Once again, Tommy didn't have a response to this. He didn't really know where he stood with Dream and this uncertainty only made him feel worse. On one hand, he knew for a fact that Dream was an enemy. The proof of this lies in his wings. He shouldn't need any more concrete proof than that.

But still, a voice whispered that his wings were Tommy's fault. He got reckless. He was stupid. He broke them beyond repair and Dream did what he had to do. 

Tommy shook his head. He has beaten this dead horse thousands of times. There was nothing to be found in furthering this internal dialogue except for confusion. All Tommy wanted was a bit of clarity, but the more he interrogated the problem, the more muddled things got.

"I don't know," the boy replied simply. "I don't think I'll ever know."

The ghost hummed once more and said, "That's okay."

Tommy scoffed and said, "Is it really?"

"Of course! There are things I should know every day, but I just don't."

"Yeah, but you're a bit different. I feel like I should know this."

"People forgive me everyday for not knowing things," Ghostbur affirmed. "I think you should forgive yourself."

"Should I really?"

"Yes."

Tommy wasn’t sure if he really believed Ghostbur. He had precious little certainly in his life these days and at least. Even during Pogtopia and the Revolution, he at least had the certainty of a common enemy. Although, thinking of Pogtopia reminded him of the eerie promise Dream bestowed them. He was on their side… he just couldn’t get involved.

Was Dream still on his side?

He sighed in exhaustion and ran his hands through his hair, ruffling his feathers as he tried to push back the guilt of what he did. The most frustrating part was that he didn’t even know what he did. Not really anyways.

“Regardless,” Ghostbur said once he realized Tommy wouldn’t bother with replying, “I think I have a plan that’ll cheer you right up.”

The winged boy didn’t want to do anything, but he decided to humor the ghost and tilted his head in fake interest. In truth, he was just drained from everything that happened and was more than willing to just give up and write today off as a bad day. But he should probably put at least a little effort into pulling it back together, right? After all, today was his mess and he would have to deal with it sooner or later. Just because he was exiled didn’t mean he got to be lazy.

“What is it?” Tommy asked dully.

“I know you’ve been bummed that no one’s visited, but I think I have a plan that can bring them all back!”

“Better not be Lads on Tour,” the boy warned.

Just a few days after Christmas, Ghostbur noticed that visitors to Logstedshire were at an all-time low and decided to host a concert. The only problem was that no one was too keen to show up and listen to Ghostbur’s amateur music. Sure, he was okay, but not near as good as Wilbur. Apparently, it didn’t warrant a trip across the nether.

Tommy honestly didn’t care much at the moment so he just ambled across Logstedshire over to where Mushroom Henry was lying against the wall, his head tucked against his forelegs. Feeling exhausted, Tommy collapsed against the bull who chuffed at the sudden weight but otherwise didn’t move. He scratched behind his horns and lounged while Ghostbur insisted that Lads on Tour was ahead of its time.

“Anyways,” Ghostbur said, getting back on topic. “I was thinking we should host another party.”

“Another party, huh?” Tommy said distractedly.

“Yeah. I’ve been checking with people in L’Manberg and they don’t have any concrete plans for New Years' so I was thinking they could celebrate here.”

“And who’s to say they’ll even show up? What does this place have-” Tommy gestured to the sparse building around him- “that L’Manberg doesn’t?”

Ghostbur hummed and said, “It has a good beach.”

“Who would want to swim in the ocean in the middle of winter?”

“C’mon, Tommy!” Ghostbur encouraged, trying to get the energy back up. “Just trust me! It’ll be fun!”

The winged boy shifted and gave the cow one last scratch before standing up. The bull raised his head and flicked a red ear, blinking lazily, before lowering it once more and falling back asleep. He sighed, wishing he could sleep as carelessly as Mushroom Henry, but ultimately let the thought fall to the wayside.

He supposed he didn’t really have anything better to do than to prepare for a party. The Christmas party was fun, he supposed, but what if that was the last time anyone came to visit for a while? What if that party got rid of their guilt and made them feel as though they did their civic duty and visited the poor, exiled Tommyinnit? If guilt was the only thing driving them to visit, Tommy wasn’t sure he wanted them around.

But, like previously mentioned, he didn’t really have anything better to do.

“Sure,” Tommy said after a moment. “Why not?”

Ghostbur approached the boy and wrapped a cold arm around him. He sunk into the icy touch as though it held some hidden warmth. He pretended the chill through his spine wasn’t there. He pretended the muted brown wings behind his brother held any sort of physical form. He pretended Ghostbur was Wilbur. 

Tommy shook his head and beamed, pretending as though he had his usual energy.

“So! Where do we start?” Tommy asked with great enthusiasm.

The ghost smiled and a weight lifted from the boy’s chest, making him feel lighter than he had all day. He was doing something right. All he had to do was pretend to be fine and Ghostbur would be happy.

Fully committing himself to the bit, Tommy launched forward out of his brother’s embrace and spread his wings and arms wide, spinning around to face the ghost. His golden feathers, though dulled from weeks of neglect, glistened brilliantly in the sun that was just beginning to peek from behind the clouds. 

“Right!” Ghostbur exclaimed, matching his energy. “I was thinking we should take down these lights and-”

His brother rambled on and on about his plans for New Years' and Tommy immediately set into action to make it a reality. First, they were to gather the borderline excessive amounts of lights strung about Logstedshire and move them to the beach to line the trunks of the various oaks that populated the shoreline. Ghostbur suggested taking down the greater Christmas tree, but Tommy vetoed that decision. 

Even if his Christmas celebration was for pity, it was still the only fond memory he had of Logstedshire. He would keep it up for however long he was to stay here.

They also had to dismantle the little tree in the middle of Logstedshire Proper, set up chairs, set up a table, and various other things including getting their hands on a cake. Ghostbur teased at possibly getting Niki to donate a cake from her bakery. Apparently, since Tommy’s exile, she’s been able to get back into baking and other creative pursuits she had to abandon during Schlatt’s presidency.

Tommy huffed and paused from re-spooling a particular string of lights.

“How is everyone else doing?” Tommy asked softly, not fully aware he said it until Ghostbur also paused in his action to reply.

“Everyone else is doing pretty well,” Ghostbur admitted. “Things have been nice.”

“That so?” the winged boy said in a clipped tone.

He was caught between being happy for his country and bitter that they were moving on without him. Did they forget about him?

Heavy guilt settled on Tommy’s chest once more, weighing his wings down as they slumped in their fold. He was being selfish. Of course, he should be happy for them. All the trauma he went through, they went through the exact same. There was still an unfilled crater, a man-made chasm that might never be filled merely worked around and bridged over.

“Yeah!” the ghost continued in a chipper tone. “I don’t really know what happened, but they’ve finished repairs on most of the buildings and I put up lanterns! Did you see the lanterns in the photo with the Christmas tree?”

“No, I must’ve missed it.”

Out of respect and curiosity, Tommy withdrew his compass from under his shirt and clicked it open. The needle stubbornly faced east, but the boy ignored it, instead taking the photos that were folded up and delicately unfolding them. The first picture was of the tree, all of its majesty sparkling in the night.

A transparent finger pointed out blurry and faded amber lights in the background. They looked like stars, but Tommy assumed those were the lanterns in the distance. He made a sound of intrigue before folding them back up and clicking the compass closed once more.

“Phil helped me make them,” Ghostbur said.

Tommy didn’t respond to this. He just tightened his lips and returned to the lights, coiling the strings and trying to avoid any conversation relating to his father. Of course, his brother was oblivious to this and plowed on with his conversation.

“It took a bit of time to figure out how to keep them lit, but Phil’s quite good with enchantments and taught me how to keep the flame going. That way, even in the wind, they remain steady and don’t get snuffed out. Did you know Phil was so good at enchanting?”

Tommy huffed a bitter laugh and said bluntly, “Yeah.”

Ghostbur forgot a great many things about their family and although Tommy had more or less gotten used to his brother’s amnesiac tendencies, some days he just wanted Wilbur back. This was one of those days. For some reason, instead of taking Ghostbur as he is, the winged boy couldn’t help but point out all the ways he was different from Wilbur. Because Ghostbur wasn’t Wilbur. Not really, anyways.

Wilbur was passionate, intelligent, a bit pessimistic, but never once compromised on his beliefs. The ghostly husk, on the other hand, was mutable, diluted, naively optimistic, and often tailored his world view to fit whoever he was around. 

He also didn’t remember much of their childhood. He didn’t really remember the Revolution, nor Pogtopia, nor the Antarctic Empire. He only remembered faint snippets that never quite painted the full picture. His world was tinted in a rose-colored hue, idealistic and untarnished. Ghostbur was lucky. He had the luxury of mistaking an exile for a vacation. Of calling an uncaring and impassive man a good and supportive father.

“Oh!” Ghostbur said with sudden energy.

Tommy snapped out of his reverie, spreading his wings on instinct, his right wing crashing into the wall. He turned his head to face his brother, ruffling his feathers irritably. Apparently, Ghostbur was waiting for an invitation to say whatever came to his mind, so Tommy said through gritted teeth, “What?”

“I know exactly who can help us decorate!”

Tommy sighed and said, “Who would that be?”

There was a beat of silence and the winged boy knew Ghostbur was just trying to create some suspense, but Tommy did not have the patience for his gimmick. He didn’t interrupt the ghost, mostly because he would only tack more guilt onto his conscience, but he wanted to desperately. He didn’t really want anyone else at the moment. He wasn’t going to say that he liked or even grew used to being alone, but he really didn’t want to let anyone else down today.

Tommy obliged his brother and waited for the dramatic reveal, shifting and twitching as he leaned against the wall.

Finally, Ghostbur spread his arms and wings out wide before exclaiming, “Phil and Fundy!”

“No, absolutely not,” Tommy shut down before the ghost even finished saying Fundy’s name.

“Why not?” the ghost asked, crestfallen.

The winged boy didn’t answer and simply continued coiling the lights in his arms to be transported over to the beach area. Ghostbur was dismayed by his complete and total shutdown but didn’t let it go. Instead, he glided over to the boy and pleaded his case.

“Phil is great with enchantments! We’ve already established this. I could make some lanterns with his help! Fundy is great at redstone! I’m sure he can rig up some sort of fireworks display and it would be great! Doesn’t that sound like fun?!”

Tommy didn’t respond and merely continued coiling the lights before walking to the entrance, a tangled mess of lights wrapped around his arm. Ghostbur suddenly grabbed onto the boy’s shoulder and he jumped, all breath stolen from his lungs. With wide eyes, he spun around half expecting to see a certain masked-wearing terror, but then calmed once he reminded himself that Dream left. A certain heaviness grew once he was reminded that Dream was upset with him.

He missed whatever Ghostbur said in his sudden terror so he cleared his throat and choked out, “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Why don’t you want them around?” the ghost repeated, slight hurt in his muted brown eyes.

The winged boy averted his eyes and shifted his wings, hugging his arms and the lights close to his chest. He didn’t really have a good answer to this question.

If he was being honest, he didn’t have a good reason for not wanting Fundy around. Aside from their awkward conversation on Christmas, they had some pretty easy comradery and shared family trauma. Still, ever since their heart-to-heart that evening, Tommy found it reassuring to stare at the north star and just turn everything off. No worries, no thoughts, no nothing. Sure, it led him astray last night, but it couldn’t have known about the storm. He was pretty stupid anyway. Technoblade wasn’t his ally anymore.

As for Phil, he refused to let that man see him under any condition. He wasn’t there during Pogtopia despite his letters. He wasn’t there at Wil’s funeral. He never once came to visit his youngest and desperately grieving son. He wasn’t there on the night of Tommy’s imprisonment. He wasn’t there at the trial. He wasn’t on the obsidian wall.

He didn’t cry out when he realized Tommy had been exiled.

He didn’t care.

Tommy sighed and said, “Because, Wilbur. Phil doesn’t care. Fundy… I just don’t really want to see anyone right now.”

“But he does care, Tommy,” Ghostbur insisted, letting the name slip up pass by. “I know he does.”

The boy twitched his wings before whispering, “Has he even asked to come?”

There was a brief moment of hesitation and that was all Tommy needed to draw his conclusion. He didn’t know why he still bothered feeling upset. Phil didn’t care about him. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but it was one he swallowed every morning that the man wasn’t there. He didn’t want Phil anyways. He didn’t want his wings. He didn’t want Wilbur. He didn’t want anything.

Tommyinnit was completely fine and well with his lot in life. No fatherly presence would make a difference. He was a big man! Big men didn’t want things.

Apparently, Ghostbur had once again been saying something to defend Phil, but Tommy completely missed it. He felt a brief pang of worry as he realized how easy it was to tune out of conversations. The last time it was this easy, he was on his second day without sleep. But he has been sleeping fine for the most part.

Oh well, he decided. It’s not like he wanted to hear the defense anyways.

“-but I do understand if you don’t want anyone around today,” Ghostbur said, the boy tuning back into the conversation. “After all, you’ve had a very tiring day.”

“That I have,” Tommy affirmed, giving no indication that he missed the first half of the statement. 

“Would you like me to leave?”

“No!” the boy nearly shouted. “I mean-” he lowered his voice into a calmer tone- “no… You can stay.”

“Still don’t want to be alone?” Ghostbur asked with nothing but kind understanding in his voice.

Tommy didn’t answer and instead continued walking towards the entrance to begin stringing up lights. He heard the ghost huff a fond laugh before gathering his own coils of lights to join Tommy. 

The sound made the boy’s heart wrench. That small laugh was such a trademark of Wilbur. He could almost imagine the man standing behind him with a soft, lopsided grin on his face. His warm brown eyes holding nothing but fondness and bright amusement. Tommy had to twist his head to remind himself of the painful truth. Wilbur was gone. Sure, Ghostbur shared his likeness, but that’s unfortunately where the resemblance stopped. 

He didn’t know why he kept drawing these painful reminders today. Tommy sighed and ruffled his hair with a free hand. 

Today has just been a bad day, he concluded as he continued his short walk to the beach. His feet crunched on top of the snow which was beginning to melt into slush under the sun’s cold rays. His feathers caught the sun, reflecting on the melting snow in a brilliant golden hue. He sighed.

If he hadn’t gone expediting last night, if he turned around the instant it began to snow, then no one would be mad at him. Or… concerned about him. To be honest, he wasn’t quite sure of the difference. It made him feel horrible and guilty either way. 

He thought he was getting better, more emotionally controlled, but all it took was one bad day to upset the balance. He felt a bit pathetic.

The sand didn’t retain as much snow as the grass did. It only accumulated in the shadows of the oak trees and upon their limbs. The ocean was completely free of ice, which should be unsurprising as the ocean docks attached to the SMP seldom froze, only in extreme and prolonged cold snaps. But, it was just one more reminder that he was not in L’Manberg.

The freshwater docks in L’Manberg frequently froze over with a thin layer of ice, wreaking havoc on their exports and imports until someone could break it or until it thawed. Tommy smirked at the memory of Quackity hurling Spanish profanities at the water each time it froze over. He wondered if Quackity would come to the New Years' celebration.

“Hey, Ghostbur?” Tommy asked to get the man’s attention.

“Yeah?”

“Who do you reckon will even come to this party?”

The ghost hummed and said, “As I said, L’Manberg doesn’t have any concrete plans for New Years' so I’d assume a good majority of the country.”

Tommy nodded before dropping the lights in the sand, taking one end, and approaching a nearby tree. Ghostbur intercepted him and shook his head before saying, “I’ll string up the trees.”

“Well, what should I do then?” Tommy asked, wings twitching.

He hoped his brother didn’t intend to decorate the whole beach by himself while Tommy sat around and twiddled his thumbs. The only reason he agreed to this party was so he could have something to do. If Ghostbur took his job away, then this whole thing would be pointless.

The ghost withdrew a stack of parchment and a quill. Tommy quirked an eyebrow. If he intended for the boy to draw, he would be sorely mistaken. He was never the artist nor did he have the greatest penmanship in general. He was sure that Ranboo needed several minutes to decipher whatever it is he wrote in their correspondence.

Tommy held out his hands before saying, “I don’t think so, Ghostbur. You shouldn’t trust me with ink.”

“C’mon, Tommy!” Ghostbur pleaded. “I’m sure more people will come if they receive hand-written invitations.”

The boy took the paper and pen in his hand, frowning as he did so while the ghost beamed.

“What do people even write in invitations?” Tommy asked with reproach and hesitation.

“Surely, you’ve invited people to things before. Don’t be silly.”

“Usually by word of mouth. There’s a reason I never really write anything down.”

Ghostbur shrugged, either feigning deafness to his brother’s plight or completely forgetting about Tommy’s frankly embarrassing penmanship. Upon further reflection, he deemed it would probably be the latter. Ghostbur remembered precious little as is, why would he remember such minute detail as his brother’s handwriting?

Tommy sighed and examined the beach for any smooth surface to write on. Eventually, he settled on a large rock that had been smoothed by the ocean’s current. He assumed it was usually submerged at high tide because the surface of the rock was still wet. With slight annoyance, Tommy shrugged off Wilbur’s coat and laid it down flat against the rock so the parchment didn’t get ruined.

He laid an ink bottle beside the parchment and sat on the wet sand, letting his wings rest on against the sand with a slight grimace. He was never a fan of sand.

With only slight hesitation, the boy unscrewed the top of the bottle and dipped the tip of his quill into the ink. He brought the nub of the quill to the parchment and let the ink blot as he realized he completely forgot how to formally invite people to anything.

“Shit,” he muttered before turning to Ghostbur who was busy stringing lights, “Who should I invite?”

“Oh, you know,” Ghostbur began unhelpfully, “Ranboo, Fundy, Jack, the regulars.”

“Right.” 

Tommy sighed a dragged the blotted the ink across to page to read, “Dear Ranboo”. From here, he was completely lost on what to write. It was always Tubbo or Wilbur who handled any sort of writing. In truth, Tommy was just a figurehead when it came to politics. He couldn’t really write, wasn’t great at negotiating, and his fighting skills were average at best. 

A disturbing thought crossed Tommy’s mind. Maybe they were better off without him. After all, all he’s caused anyone today was grief…

He shook his head and shuffled his wings. He could trust his mind right now and he knew it. So, he shut off his thoughts and just began to write as he went. This first letter would be the hardest. After it was finished, he could just use it as a template for the remaining… however many he decided to write out.

The waves were very calming to listen to as the ocean gradually receded into its low tide. Sea birds sang overhead as they played in the wind. If Tommy was able to, he would launch up there and chase them off. Greedy bastards didn’t know how good they had it. His wings twitched. He would much rather be off flying in the clouds than sitting on this beach, writing letters to people who might not even come-

Nope! He cut himself off. There would be no thoughts right now.

Ghostbur could be heard shuffling lights behind him, cursing softly when he dropped them or when they didn’t go around the tree correctly. Without seeing the ghost’s transparent hue, Tommy could almost fool himself into thinking that his brother was working quietly behind him. The thought put him at ease and he smiled slightly. 

Sometime shortly after Wilbur’s death, Tommy took to sleeping in his underground bunker rather than in his main room. It reminded him of Pogtopia and while he didn’t miss that ravine, he could fool himself into believing his brother was sleeping in the room above him, valiantly keeping guard rather than sleeping indefinitely under the earth. It got him through some of the darker nights. Though his wings ached at the thought of being underground, sometimes he needed a bit of discomfort to distract himself.

Ghostbur’s voice was almost the same. The slight echo could be dismissed as bad acoustics and right now, that’s what Tommy was content to believe.

Instead of thinking anything substantial, he put his mind to work trying to imagine his brother working behind him. Muted brown hair giving way to rich and dark chestnut, wild and unruly in its curls. Vacant eyes replaced in favor of a warm, dark brown hue. The sweater could stay the same, just a bit brighter and softer to the touch.

The thought of having his brother alive and well behind put him at ease and he allowed himself to just write. Eventually, he wrote the letter in its entirety. It wasn't anything special. Just a simple invitation with a crossed-out bit saying that he missed him. Tommy normally would get a whole new sheet of paper, but he also kinda wanted Ranboo to know.

He started work on the next letter addressed to Fundy, his handwriting getting less sloppy as he continued and fewer blots of ink dotted the page. He then wrote one to Jack, Puffy, Niki, Bad, Antfrost (though more as a joke), and all other residents of L'Manberg. 

Tommy looked at the stack of paper he managed to fill with polite invitations, feeling a twinge of pride. He was more useful than he thought. The first couple of letters started out more or less the same, but they all got more individualized as he went. A bit of vulnerability that he normally wouldn't express.

To Jack, he described his admiration of bravery for starting a country alone, since he now knew what it was like to not have any allies. To Puffy, for being a kind and caring figure even through her limited interactions with him. To Niki, for bouncing back after the face of tyranny and continuing to bravely try again and again despite the setbacks. To Bad, for being his first visitor when he thought he was truly alone. To Antfrost...

Well, he didn't really have much to say about Antfrost. That one was a carbon copy of the first.

He wrote personalized messages for every member of L'Manberg and not only because he wanted to promote his return, but also because he meant them. Tommy realized just how important these people were to him and he genuinely wanted to extend an olive branch.

Tommy ran through a mental list of who he might be missing, actually beginning to enjoy writing.

Hesitantly, he wrote "Dear Dream".

The invitation was superficial and he wasn't even sure if he wanted to send it, seeing as he would probably see the tyrant tomorrow anyways. He mentally copped himself for calling the man a tyrant. Was he not? Why did he feel guilt every time he thought of Dream?

Gritting his teeth in frustration, Tommy signed the letter and resolved to have it sent. At best it's a formality anyway. It didn't enforce anything. He wasn't his friend. He wasn't doing it out of guilt. He simply did it because he wanted to and that was that.

Maybe a bit more forcefully than he should've, Tommy added the invitation to the stack after making sure the previous letter, addressed to Quackity, was dry and wouldn't smudge or bleed through.

Without turning his head, the boy called out the ghost behind him.

"Hey, Wil-" Tommy cut himself off, "Ghostbur," he amended.

"Yeah?"

"I've finished the letters."

"Wonderful! I think I'm just about done with the lights... Do you have everyone?" Ghostbur asked after a moment.

Tommy hesitated a moment but wasn't sure why. He had everyone he wanted to invite. Obviously, Phil wasn't on the list and he felt no guilt for that, but he felt as though someone was missing. As he rifled through the pages, he suddenly became hyper-aware of the brass compass hanging at his neck.

Oh.

Tubbo.

Hesitantly, Tommy asked, "Do you... Do you think I should invite-"

For some reason, he was unable to get the word out as his throat was suddenly dry and a lump began to form. Clearing his throat, he finished his sentence roughly, "-Tubbo?"

He still refused to turn his head and break the illusion of Wilbur being there instead of his brother.

The ghost said, "I don't see why not! I'm sure he would love a break. He's been very busy."

"Yeah..." 

With great trepidation, Tommy deliberately dipped his quill back in the ink and brought it to his paper, the ink blotting slightly as he wrote, "Dear Tubbo".

He wasn't sure what to say. What could be said? Tubbo exiled him, but at the same time, Tommy let him down. He's been letting everyone down these days. Tubbo was his best friend, his brother, his greatest advocate when there was no one else. They lived together, fought together, cried together, ruled together... everything they did... they were always together.

Tommy didn't know how to navigate being alone. He logically knew he had to open with an apology, but he just couldn't. He's never been good at apologies.

Instead, he wrote the same carbon copy of the first letter.

He regretted it even in the process of writing it, but what could he say? What could he write? There were no words. 

He didn't quite know why, but he signed the letter "Your Tommy". He felt a bit better now that it had a bit of personalization. He also immediately felt stupid and considered blotting it out in favor of his usual signature, but forced himself to leave it. 

Once it was dry, he hid it in the middle of the stack so he didn't have to look at it and wasn't tempted to go back.

Sighing, Tommy stood up and dusted the wet sand off his trousers. He also shook out his wings for good measure but knew he would have to work the sand out of them later in the day.

Stretching and feeling a bit better than he had been, he turned around and was surprised to see two oak trees almost completely covered in lights. It was very well done and looked great. They would look even better when lit.

He was also pleasantly surprised to find that he didn't feel too bad after seeing Ghostbur in his usual transparency. The melted bits had repaired and he looked normal again. Tommy smiled.

He whistled and said, "Wow, Ghostbur! This place is looking great!"

"I know, right? I'm rather pleased with it myself," the ghost said with a wide smile. "I think we only have enough lights for one more tree, but I could always get more."

Tommy nodded but didn't want to ask for any more than he already had and said, "No, that's alright. I think it already looks great."

"Glad to hear it!" the ghost cheered before approaching the boy holding one end of the lights. "Want to help me with this last one?"

"Sure."

The winged boy grabbed the wire and approached the tree. Most of the snow had melted by this point, leaving a muddy slush that clung to Tommy's boots as he trudged through it. The chill still clung in the air, but only slightly and the wind had all but stopped. The sun was beginning to set.

Hopefully, they'd finish the lights before night set in. He really wanted to see them all lit up.

Stringing up the tree proved to be more difficult than Tommy originally anticipated. He couldn't get them in the neat and tight coils that Ghostbur managed to wrangle them in. His were too spread out and loose. They looked as though any bump of the wires would cause them to completely fall or at least become askew.

Sure, he wasn't in the running for any aesthetics competition, but he wanted it to look nice at least. Ghostbur cheered him on from the sidelines, feeding him more wire as he needed it. He was sure that his brother would have to completely fix his designs. He almost wished Ghostbur would notice the catastrophe and step in to help.

Biting back a litany of curses, Tommy got the main trunk covered in very uneven coils, but his arms and hands were already scratched and he could feel splinters embedded in his fingers so he didn't care much. He couldn't reach the top branches due to his clipped wings and never learned how to climb a tree because of how unnecessary it was, but for once he didn't mind.

"I can't reach the top branches, would you mind taking over?" Tommy asked Ghostbur, not taking no for an answer as he already began to step to the side.

"Sure thing, Tommy."

Ever chipper, the ghost slowly began to rework Tommy's coils without complaint.

"The trick," Ghostbur said, "is patience and equal tension along the wire. If you pull too hard, the wires will snag on the bark, but if you are too loose, then it won't grip the tree properly. You were going a bit too fast."

"Why didn't you step in then?" Tommy asked while rolling his eyes.

The ghost hummed and said, "I think it's good to make mistakes."

"That so?" the boy challenged.

It wasn't that Tommy didn't believe in Ghostbur's earnest nature, it was more so that Wilbur was never too fond of the learning process. Throughout his life, it was either he got it done right the first time or was never allowed to do it again. Thus, he never learned good horsemanship and he never learned how to speak the common language of villages.

"Of course," Ghostbur affirmed, oblivious to his brother's tone. 

They then began to converse about random topics while Tommy picked splinters out of his hands and Ghostbur continued working on the tree, occasionally interjecting with tips about laying wires. They just filled the empty air with their voice and it was very nice. They talked about the weather, Tommy regaled tales of their childhood, Ghostbur enthused about their future... It was nice.

It reminded him of the early years when he and Wilbur would travel the wilderness, hopping from village to village in search of nothing in particular. Their travels weren't always a pleasant journey, however. Dream hunted them at every corner to gain leverage on the crumbling Antarctic Empire. They only really got some peace by joining in Dream's ranks.

They didn't know what they wanted until they founded L'Manberg.

Since then, all of Tommy's waking moments were obsessed with their nation and, once things settled, reclaiming his discs. Nowadays, he wasn't sure which was more important.

On one hand, L'Manberg meant the world to Tommy, but on the other... it was just another chain holding him back. The discs gave him something to look forward to, something to dream for, to give him purpose. He supposed through a political lens, it could declare complete emancipation from Dream by removing the one piece of collateral their independence stood on.

But, Tommy was never a good politician. He really just wanted his discs back. If not for the music, then for adventure.

Maybe he truly was Phil's son, Tommy thought wryly. Neither could be contained and both were as fickle as the wind. A passionate and driving force one minute, stirring hurricanes and tornadoes into existence, while being an impassive breeze the next, not really pulling in one direction or the other.

"Hey, Wil?" Tommy asked, slipping the old nickname without fully realizing it.

Ghostbur hummed in response.

"How are you these days?" he asked in sincerity, adding, "Really and truly," since he knew the ghost would lie.

"I'm..." Ghostbur hesitated, his face falling for a millisecond before catching it. "I'm alright."

"Really?"

"Yeah!"

Tommy sighed and pointed out, "Your face fell for a second."

The ghost waved a hand and said, "I was just thinking."

The boy hummed and twitched his wings, fixing his brother with a look that showed that he clearly did not believe him. He frowned slightly and said, "You know you can't lie to me, right?"

Ghostbur sighed and - without stopping his work - said, "There's just so much going on in L'Manberg."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't want to upset you..."

"Ghostbur."

"Fine, fine," the ghost said, finally obliging him. "There's just a lot of uncertainty. I mean, by all means, L'Manberg is doing great! But everyone is just kinda... tense. I do my best to relieve some of the pressure by always being happy and fixing things around the place, but there's just something missing that I can't figure out."

For a brief moment, a flicker of hope flared to life in Tommy's chest before being quelled by his ever-present and ever-growing guilt. He shouldn't be happy that there is discourse in his country. He should be upset. But, hearing of their unrest made him hope that maybe they missed him. Maybe he meant something to them.

"I just want everyone to be happy," Ghostbur admitted sullenly. He immediately began to backtrack by saying, "But don't worry about me! I'm fine! I just-"

Tommy cut him off and asked, "Do you think it's me?"

The ghost seemed taken aback and paused in his work.

"Do you think I'm what's missing?" Tommy clarified, feeling desperate for an answer as his wings unfurled and his hands wrung together.

"It's not your fault!" Ghostbur amended, misunderstanding the boy. "Not even slightly! You deserve a break! It's more so..."

Ignoring the crushing weight of disappointment, the winged boy motioned for his brother to continue. He watched in slight envy as the ghost propelled himself into the air to string up the higher branches.

"I guess it's more so Tubbo..." Ghostbur quickly backtracked, "I mean, the president! Mr. President."

Upon hearing his best friend's name, Tommy pricked up once more and stopped leaning casually against a tree in favor of a more attentive posture. His hand subconsciously went to his chest where his compass was hanging under his shirt. He became more aware of the power thrumming in it and the warmth it emitted.

"Wait, Tubbo?" Tommy asked desperately.

"President Tubbo," Ghostbur amended.

"Right, right, President Tubbo," the boy said rapidly, the title not quite feeling right. "What about him? Is he okay?"

If something happened to Tubbo, Tommy wouldn't hesitate in building a raft and following his compass far out into the sea regardless of the price on his head. He would set Mushroom Henry free and risk the ocean. Dream be damned, Ghostbur be damned, the only person that mattered in all of this was Tubbo.

If Tubbo was in danger, nothing else mattered.

Ghostbur placatingly raised a hand and said, "Tubbo is fine."

Tommy folded his wings back behind his back and released some tension he didn't know he accumulated.

"But-" a bit of the tension returned- "he just seems a bit... withdrawn. Health wise he's perfectly fine, but there's just something off that I can't quite place."

A heavy silence filled the air as Tommy contemplated what this meant. Tubbo? Withdrawn? He'd sooner see the day when Dream became a benevolent leader rather than a ruthless tyrant.

Concern for his friend's mental well-being grew into a cacophony that doubled with his guilt to make for a very unpleasant and dissonant orchestral piece. Did he cause Tubbo to be upset? Did he do this? He's unwittingly done so many awful things lately that he couldn't say he would be surprised.

But no, he reminded himself. He didn't do anything wrong today. It was just an expedition gone wrong and George's griefing was just a harmless prank! No real harm was done. He didn't do anything to hurt anyone. He was fine. Ghostbur already forgave him! Same with Ranboo.

If anything, Tubbo's mental state could be blamed on Ranboo! He was the surviving party, so to speak. Making amends should fall onto his shoulders.

No, that wasn't a good way to think. It was not Ranboo's weight to bear. Was it really Tommy's fault though?

Gritting his teeth and knotting his hands in his hair, wings unfurling once more, Tommy didn't know what to think. Who should he trust? His guilty conscience or his stubborn justifications? Why couldn't his brain just pick a side?

A voice that sounded awfully like Dream echoed in his head. It was Tommy's fault. It was all Tommy's fault. Every bit of it. Every last heartache and every last crater in L'Manberg.

No! He stubbornly rejected this notion. This wasn't his fault! He knew it wasn't! Whose was it? Wasn't it all Wil-

"Tommy!" Ghostbur shouted, snapping the boy out of his thoughts momentarily. "I've finished! Look!"

The boy looked up for one second, seeing Ghostbur proudly holding the connective wire to the lights on the trees, ready to connect them and set the beach alight in a warm glow. The sockets inched closer together, then-

CRACK

Sparks flew in the air and bulbs burst, shattering glass across the beach like a fantasy being smashed through to reality. The embers reflected in Ghostbur's far too familiar brown eyes, giving them an almost manic gleam and suddenly everything fell apart.

He was not in Logstedshire. The trees distorted to a horribly familiar ravine wall, suffocating Tommy and he swore he could hear manic laughter echoing across the darkening landscape. He brought his hands to his eyes, rubbing them fervently as they shook and sweated. He was growing light-headed. Was he even breathing? Was his heart beating? Was he alive?

He was not in L'Manberg.

It was not November. 

Wilbur was dead.

Techno disappeared. 

He tried to internally chant to bring his mind back to earth, but everything was too loud and he could not focus. Where was he?

He was in Pogtopia. He just knew it. The tinge of electricity and scent of TNT hung in the air like smoke. It was too impossibly dark to be anywhere else. 

"Well... Must've been a bad fault," he heard a horribly familiar voice say with a laugh.

Tommy spread his wings and snapped his head forward, looking into the ember-filled eyes of his brother, Wilbur Soot, clothes tinged with scorch marks and his skin phasing between real and transparent like a shifting reality. It was too dark to tell. Oh god, it was too dark. He was underground. He was-

A hand clasped on his shoulder, making him snap his head up once more. When did he look at the ground? Where was he? He felt fuzzy. He felt sore. His wings felt lighter. Was he dying?

"Tommy," Wilbur said, face indecipherable to read. "Are you okay?

His throat tightened and his breathing quickened. He felt light-headed and he was aware of the pressure on his shoulder, but only distantly. 

At least he was breathing.

Not realizing it fully, Tommy choked out, "Wil-"

His brother began saying things in a flurry that Tommy couldn't quite catch, but he did head, "-I can be Alivebur if you-"

Why did he say Alivebur? Who was that? There was only Wilbur. 

He stuttered, "What? Wh- Alivebur? Why? I-"

He once again heard Wilbur's voice like he was talking through a fan or a distorted radio, saying things that Tommy just couldn't catch onto. He felt like he was going to faint. He could feel his grip on reality loosening.

Suddenly, he felt gentle hands cup his face, cold against the heat of his cheeks. He became aware of the chill of the airbrushing against his tear tracks. When did he start crying?

The cold hands on his face breathed fresh air into Tommy's lungs and he suddenly remembered how to breathe. Taking gasping breaths and shaking, the winged boy was brought back to reality with his wings straining in their extension and tense. He slowly just breathed and relaxed, letting his feathers lay flat and his wings relax into a loose fold.

"Are you okay, Tommy?" he heard Wil- no... Ghostbur say with great concern.

Faintly out of breath, he stuttered, "Yeah... yeah... I'm good..."

Looking up at his brother, he still struggled to separate Ghostbur from Wilbur, but his surroundings softened and cleared. Intense and oppressive walls giving way to oak trees dancing in the slight breeze. His boots shifted against the mud. The air was clear. The ocean roared behind him. It was quieter. It was clearer.

His brain was still muddled, but it was not near as opaque as it was a few moments ago. He still struggled to discern delusion from reality, but he was grounded. He never thought he would feel relief being on the ground. His wings twitched.

He was safe.

Taking a deep breath, Tommy moved out of Ghostbur's cold grasp and reoriented himself.

A thought occurred. He saw Wilbur. Wilbur was there. He felt it so strongly in his bones that within Ghostbur lied his dead brother. Somewhere deep in his subconscious, he was sure that his brother was there. He saw the manic gleam in his eyes. He knew it to be true. It just has to be true.

"You're Wilbur, right?" Tommy tested.

"I'm Ghostbur," the ghost replied, his eyebrows furrowing in concern.

"No, no," Tommy said with his finger raised. "I saw him. I know he's in there."

His brother shifted uncomfortably, "Tommy, I don't think-"

"I'm not crazy!" he shouted.

Ghostbur shrank away and said, "I never said you were..."

"I know he's in there!"

"Alivebur-"

Tommy let out a frustrated cry. He knew what he saw! He threw his hands in the air and rounded on the ghost, who shrank back further, wings extending as though he wanted to take flight. Distantly, he heard a voice tell him to back off, but he would not let this slip.

He knew he was right.

Wilbur was to blame. Tommy didn't do anything. Wilbur was there and if he admitted to all of it then Tommy would be free of all of it! All his guilt would be gone in an instant! Ghostbur was just being selfish.

"Stop with this 'Alivebur' nonsense!" Tommy shouted. "Think! Dig deep! I know he's there! You can't lie to me!"

"I don't-"

"No!" the winged boy cut him off, towering over the ghost with his wings spread threateningly. "Stop lying to me! I know he's there!"

"Please..."

Desperate to bring out Wilbur and become face to face with the man who truly abandoned him, the one man who could absolve him of all this guilt, he tried one more tactic. He knew he was right. He knew what he saw.

After a moment, allowing Ghostbur to regain his breath, Tommy asked in a very quiet voice, "Why did you appoint Tubbo as president?"

"I didn't-"

"I know you did," Tommy said. "I just want to know why. Why did you do all of this?"

"I-"

Overcome with frustration, rage, and guilt, Tommy shouted at the top of his lungs, "WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO US?!"

The ghost looked stricken and looked ready to cry, but no tears came. He couldn't cry. He physically couldn't. Tommy was panting heavily and felt tears begin to fall. Ghostbur couldn't reciprocate the action. Ghostbur was dead.

Oh.

Intense, burning shame ate through the winged boy as he shrank back and folded his wings, allowing the ghost to stand once more. He looked askance and a sob tore through him. He did it again. He did it again and this time worse than ever. He lost control.

Of course, Wilbur was dead. He knew that. He truly did. He didn't see anyone, but a trick of the light and the kind ghost who's been helping him. And he tore into him for nothing.

There was nothing he could say.

Ghostbur slowly stood, his wings still unfurled as though every instinct was screaming for him to take flight. Tommy knew the feeling. He caused his brother to feel that way. This was his doing. Like a startled animal, the ghost looked off into the wilderness and flicked his gaze back to Tommy as though he was in danger.

Horrible, choking sobs tore through the winged boy and he pathetically fell to his knees, into the mud. Little glass shards from the bulbs biting into the fabric of his trousers.

"I'm-" Tommy choked out. "I'm sorry..."

His brother seemed to come back to reality as his eyes shifted from one of wild apprehension to one of concern and care. He didn't deserve his sympathy. Ghostbur was too good for him. 

"I'm sorry," he repeated thousand times over.

"It's okay," Ghostbur said.

"It's not!" Tommy shouted. "I fucked up again!"

"It's alright," the ghost insisted, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder.

He violently flinched away, both because he expected a harsher grip and because he didn't feel like he deserved consolation. Tommy's refusal for comfort seemed to strike the ghost even deeper as Ghostbur also flinched away.

The ghost didn't seem to know what to do. Every attempt at consolation only drove Tommy further into despair. Why was he like this? Why did he keep doing this? Once again, he thought he was doing better, but he only fell into a deeper hole. 

After what felt like years, Tommy's sobs quieted into sniffles and he curled up into himself, too shameful to look Ghostbur in the eyes. Why was the ghost still here? He didn't deserve this.

"Can you tell me how I can help you?" the ghost pleaded.

"Ghostbur," Tommy said in a broken and gruff voice. "Just go."

"What? But-"

"Please..." the boy pleaded in return.

He didn't really want to be left alone. He wanted to reconcile with his brother. He wanted to make things right, but a nasty voice said he didn't deserve it. He listened to the voice.

He didn't deserve to be forgiven.

Ghostbur hesitated before regretfully turning away, saying in a sad voice, "I'll be back tomorrow... make sure you get some sleep."

Tommy didn't respond. It was too painful. 

He felt the ghost’s presence leave the beach and heard the nether portal activate. He got his wish. He was alone.

He deserved to be alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty! Wow. This was crazy. I don't have many words, to be honest. I am tired and will now take a nap.
> 
> This was beta'd partially by violet_sunflowers and weavability, but I couldn't make them beta all 12k words. I'm not that cruel. The rest is by Grammarly.
> 
> We got some new fanart by @H3LL3VAT0RS on twitter: (https://twitter.com/H3LL3VAT0RS/status/1365071745972121605), please give it a look!
> 
> As always, make sure to drink water and get enough sleep! Hope to see you all next time! <3


	12. Tubbo's Interlude I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Tommy is in exile, Tubbo finds himself in a tired partisan battle with his vice president. He is tired, but a president can never catch a break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! Here we are at the closing of Arc One of this massive fic. I will be finishing each arc with an interlude of sorts from another character's POV to spice things up. This time? Tubbothy! Be warned, this chapter is pretty politics heavy, mostly because I needed to set up future events and I wanted to show just how exhausting political life can be. I'm also in the second semester of my government class and want to flex my knowledge. 
> 
> Please enjoy!

Every day was more or less the same to President Tubbo. He’d wake up, begin his early morning briefings with Quackity, sign several meaningless documents, watch the paperwork pile up, then go back to bed. If Tubbo knew being president meant glorified clerical work, he would’ve followed Tommy’s lead and resigned.

Today, and increasingly so every day, the ram hybrid had a hard time finding a reason to leave his bed. Even now, he lay in a futon situated in his office, staring at the wall and trying to convince his limbs to move. 

He could feel his communicator upon his wrist buzzing with unread messages, presumably from Quackity. Maybe if he ignored them, they would go away. It’s not that he didn’t like Quackity. The older avian hybrid helped him navigate his presidency greatly and Tubbo didn’t know where he would be without him. But Quackity meant more work. More disgruntled citizens to address. More speeches to draft. More factions to meet with.

Tubbo sighed as shifted his head to look out the window on the far side of the room, his desk silhouetted against it. Mountains of paperwork gleaming in the morning sun. The dull ache at the base of his horns told him it would be cold outside. Not so much that he got a migraine, but just enough that it gave him another reason to stay in bed. He ran a hand over the curve of his horns. If they got any bigger, it’d make sleeping on his back very uncomfortable.

The buzzing of his communicator thankfully stopped and Tubbo closed his eyes, resting his arm against his eyes to shield them from the growing light of the sun. He wasn’t particularly tired. In fact, his legs twinged with unspent energy, urging him to get up, but he just couldn’t find the will to do so. It was easier to just stay in bed.

Suddenly, there was a knock at his door. Tubbo whined in protest.

“Mr. President? Vice President Quackity is waiting for you in the conference hall,” his secretary called out.

Sighing hopelessly, Tubbo called out to Jonathan and said in a slightly groggy voice, “Yup. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“At your leisure,” Jonathan responded.

Knotting the blanket in his fists, Tubbo reluctantly dragged it off of himself and swung his legs over so that he was sitting. His ears twitched as he rubbed his eyes. He glared at the suit hanging on his chair with disdain. Even during the election, he hated that suit. 

He once again contemplated laying back down, but he knew from experience that his secretary would barge through the door if he took more than ten minutes. Jonathan was a very strange man that served the Schlatt Administration and Tubbo wasn’t sure if he was even human. He had no discernable personality and seemed to linger everywhere Tubbo went. 

The boy huffed a small laugh as he remembered pranking Jonathan with Quackity throughout Schlatt’s reign. It was one of the only good times of that era. Nowadays, all Quackity wanted to do was work and Tubbo had so much to do, he didn’t have any time to worry about what his secretary was up to.

Enough stalling, he told himself as he hauled himself to his feet and shuffled over to his navy blue suit. With practiced ease, he adorned the white undershirt, feeling only slightly choked from the collar button at his neck, and unceremoniously put on his jacket and slacks. In a half-asleep daze, he pinned the L’Manberg flag on his lapel and clipped a gold chain from his lapel to his shoulder.

He slipped on his shoes and walked to the mirror, securing his tie as he went.

He looked awful.

His brown curls were disheveled and lines wore on his face that looked much too old for his young age. Dark circles ran under his eyes and he sighed, running a hand over his face. Tubbo ran his fingers through his hair, trying to straighten it as best he could. He was grateful his horns hadn’t completely grown in because, with the stress lines and dark circles, he looked entirely too much like-

Tubbo wouldn’t think about Schlatt, he decided. Today was already starting off a bit of a mess. He didn’t want to tempt fate further.

Sighing, he looked away from the mirror and decided he was about as good as he was going to get. He still really didn’t want to walk out that door and face his creepy secretary and talk politics with his vice president. Tubbo stomped his foot on the ground and worried his lip. 

“Mr. President,” Jonathan’s voice called from behind the door.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tubbo replied. “I’m coming.”

He still shuffled for a moment, shaking his head with indecision. The larger part of him wanted to crawl back into bed and not move for the rest of eternity, but he also knew he didn’t have a choice. Mindfully ignoring the mounds of paperwork on his redwood desk, he walked past and brushed a hand on the gold nameplate with his name engraved. 

Almost a year into his presidency and it still felt surreal.

Tubbo wondered if he was doing a good job. He knew he wasn’t perfect, but was he doing okay? L’Manberg’s economy was on the upward trend since Dream stopped pressuring their trade systems. Overall morale seemed high since the passing of several bills which aided in Reconstruction, but honestly, those weren’t his design. They were Quackity’s. Tubbo was more of a figurehead. 

In fact, the only real decision he made on his own was in direct defiance of Quackity. The exile of Tommyinnit. His best friend. His brother. His original vice president.

...How long has it been?

He refused to look at his communicator to get an accurate reference of time, but he supposed it must’ve been a month. He wondered how Tommy was doing. To be honest, he wondered about this every waking moment when he wasn’t at work. Thus, he kept working.

It’s not like he didn’t have plenty of work to distract himself. It didn’t matter how many hundreds of bills he signed and policies he reviewed, they never ended and only multiplied. He wasn’t necessarily efficient, but he was still stuck in a constant rut of working all waking hours of the day. He didn’t mind though. He couldn’t really sleep anyway. Thus, the futon in his office rather than the bed in his house.

He hadn’t been home since the trial. He hasn’t really slept much either. He felt guilty.

Tubbo’s eyes subconsciously darted towards the second drawer of his nightstand, but he tore them away quickly. The guilty pull on his subconscious tightened. He hadn’t opened that drawer since he put a certain item in it and locked it away. 

Ghostbur gifted him a brass compass on Christmas morning that supposedly pointed to Tommy. He was touched. He really was. But he put it in his office for safe-keeping then just let it collect dust in the drawer. It now felt like a manifestation of his guilt than an actual charm of good luck. He didn’t want to think of Tommy most days. He didn’t want to be reminded of what he did. Did he regret it?

He didn’t have an answer.

Tubbo stomped on the glossy floors once more, hands reaching up to grip his horns as he wondered what he should do. He really wanted to grab the compass and check it for any tangible reminders of Tommy, but he also would rather never see it again and just live with his choice.

Another knock sounded at the door and Tubbo knew it was only a matter of time before Jonathan barged in and practically dragged him to the conference room. He nearly jumped out of his skin as the doorknob began to turn and in an impulsive movement, he threw himself at the drawer and tore it open, taking the compass, shoving it in his pocket, then closing the drawer once more. The compass felt heavy in his pocket as it weighed down the edge of his suit. He still didn’t look at it, but having its presence on him felt like punishment enough.

Any brush of skin against the brass felt like lightning shooting up his nerves. It made the hair on his arm stand on end. The power within the compass was unbelievably dense and it stole his breath away. He was sure that any extended contact with it would melt the skin off his bone. He didn’t open it. He didn’t look at it. It lay his pocket, just as forgotten and heavy as when it was in the drawer.

The door suddenly clicked open and Jonathan peered through the crack, making Tubbo jump once more, as he said, “Excuse me, Mr. President, but Quackity will not wait much longer.”

Tubbo sighed and said, “Got it.”

The door closed once more and instantly tension left his shoulders. He had to prepare for the day. Physically, he was ready, but mentally, he wasn’t sure if he would ever be. 

Tubbo approached the door and laid his hand on the knob, taking in a deep breath. He held an inhale for a second before exhaling, straightening his shoulders and drawing himself up to his full height. In a second breath, he steeled his gaze and let his face fall into one of cool professionalism. In a third, he let go of all emotions bogging down his mind.

He needed to be cool, calm, and reasonable. The picture-perfect president. Driven by logic and not by emotion.

The compass burned in this pocket.

Still, with one last deep breath, Tubbo twisted the knob and opened the door, feeling a rush of air greet him as the fresher air of the hallway entered his lungs. He really should open a window in his office. 

Of course, greeting him outside the door was Jonathan. The man had an almost disconcerting smile and perfectly dyed brown hair gelled back to hide his receding hairline. His suit was perfectly pressed and his face held no signs of wear. In other words, he looked exactly like how the world expected Tubbo to look. Perfect, cheerful, and a ready civil servant. 

Tubbo sighed and rubbed his eyes while saying, “Good morning, Jonathan.”

“Good morning, Mr. President,” the man responded pleasantly, opening a briefcase that was held under his arm and withdrawing several important-looking documents. Tubbo sighed and eyes them with reproach. It better not be more paperwork he had to add to the pile.

“What are these about?” Tubbo asked wearily.

Jonathan handed the papers to Tubbo while saying, “These are a short draft for a new proposal Vice President Quackity would like you to review before your meeting.”

“And he’s just giving these to me now?” the boy asked incredulously while thumbing through the several sheets of dense paper.

“Yes, well,” his secretary began, “you would’ve had more time to review them if you were on time.”

Tubbo just sighed and laid a hand on one of his horns, briefly glancing over the first page of the document. It looked to be a proposal for a small militia to be formed and a subsequent military to be raised in the coming years, well after Tubbo’s term. This was certainly the most ambitious project Quackity brought to his desk. It didn’t quite sit right.

He wished he had more than a few minutes to review the entire proposal, especially given the enormity of the request. This would directly contest L’Manberg’s founding principles. 

“Hey, Jonathan,” Tubbo said, eyes not leaving the document.

The man hummed in acknowledgment.

“Did any of the other staff clear this document? Were there any signatures?” the president asked in slight incredulity.

“Vice President Quackity will go over his methodology at the meeting.”

Tubbo wanted to roll his eyes or scoff at this. Quackity, although a great asset to his cabinet, was increasingly vague and cryptic these days. He could make a single signature sound like a public consensus. The ram hybrid sighed and shook his head. He quickly glanced through the rest of the document and pursed his lips, displeased with the audacity of this proposal.

On the first page, it simply requested the formation of a loose militia to be called to arms should there be any foreign threats. This militia would be regulated and lightly trained, but nothing more than a precaution. The following pages became increasingly radical and worryingly militaristic. On top of instating a draft in times of war, Quackity also proposed a Secretary of Defense along with forming a standing army in the coming years. Hidden in the middle of the document was even a clause about terrorism and acts of retaliation. 

In one clipped movement, Tubbo turned on his heel and began a march down the hall to the conference room. Their new white house was a proper marble-carved building with pristine white walls and glossy redwood floors. The previous white house was a tiny wooden building with a conference room on the lower level and an executive office on the top floor. Here, there were many different offices and two conference halls, one downstairs for general meetings and one upstairs for executive meetings. 

The executives primarily worked on the top floor while other civil servants worked on the bottom floor. 

A couple people walked by the young president and waved slightly, to which he put on his best smile and waved back. Thankfully no one wanted to talk. He wasn’t too sure he could be civil after reading the outrageous document that Quackity prepared. Jonathan followed close at his heels, yammering on about things Tubbo already knew.

He felt his irritation rising with every step. 

Turning the corner, he saw the ornate redwood door that opened to the conference room. Before he entered, he turned to Jonathan with a forced face of neutrality.

“Jonathan, you are dismissed,” Tubbo commanded.

The man’s face soured for a second before he quickly recovered and said, “But sir, as a senior member of the staff, I believe-”

“You are an incumbent, yes, but this is now an executive meeting that is beyond your station. Take your leave and allow me to handle this matter.”

“Sir-”

Tubbo handed Jonathan the proposal and said in a clipped tone, “I will not be needing this. Please store it in the archive under ‘Rejected Proposals’.”

The secretary took the papers but was clearly displeased. Tubbo couldn’t care less what his secretary thought. He and Quackity were of a single mind anyways and he wasted no time in trying to coach Tubbo into sharing their, frankly radical, views. The president spun on his heel and continued walking to the conference room before the older man could say a word. He was patient and was willing to hear out a great many things, but their country was not ready to engage in another war.

Suddenly, a hand caught his shoulder, making Tubbo freeze and forcing the breath out of his lungs. He willed himself not to be irrational as his stuttering breaths returned in a clipped manner. His head flinched towards his aggressor, but he forced it straight once more. Every instinct was screaming for him to ram his horns against whoever laid their hands on his and bolt, but he had to quell that instinct.

He may be a ram hybrid in a friendly country, but that didn’t mean he could just follow his primal instinct.

“Please unhand me,” Tubbo said calmly.

“Sir, you are being irrational,” Jonathan chided in a tone that made Tubbo’s leg twitch. “I urge you to listen to the proposal before you reject it. It’s the proper thing to do.”

The president cleared his throat and straightened his tie before slowly turning around, the hand leaving his shoulder. An intense weight suddenly left him as the pressure from the hand faded. He faced his secretary with cool defiance despite his tired complexion.

“Jonathan,” Tubbo began, “you are a valued member of my cabinet and I would never think to replace you, but I thought you would have more respect for my beliefs. L’Manberg is not a militaristic nation nor will it ever be. You urge me to listen but I order you to take your leave. The proposal is dead on arrival and I offer no sympathies.”

His secretary stood there for a moment with a shocked expression. It wasn’t often that Tubbo was so firm in his beliefs. Part of him wanted the man to get violent or shout, any reason to get him out of the office, but any hopes of the were dashed the man assumed his carefully pleasant visage and merely nodded.

Tubbo was certain that Jonathan was secretly plotting his revenge.

“Have a good meeting, Mr. President,” the man said before turning around and rounding the corner to go down the flight of stairs.

The president wouldn’t honestly be surprised if he found the same proposal on his desk tomorrow morning with a new byline and title. However, he was firm in his decision and he had to make sure Quackity was aware of this. 

Tubbo was less than thrilled about having to confront Quackity. It wasn’t that the avian wouldn’t eventually accept his decision, it was more so that the man would sooner die than let his proposals be rejected without a fight. Thanks to the Schlatt Administration, the political climate of L’Manberg was cutthroat and although Tubbo’s party held a slim majority, the militaristic radicalists that Schlatt raised still remained. 

Now that Jonathan was out of sight, Tubbo turned around and walked towards the redwood door. Every muscle felt heavy. He was already drained from his confrontation with Jonathan that he didn’t think he had the energy to face Quackity. Not that he could ever be prepared for it.

With his hand on the knob, Tubbo took several deep breaths and assumed a face of professionalism, clearing any unnecessary emotions from his mind. The compass felt heavy in his pocket, but he ignored it. He should have kept it in the drawer, or better yet locked it in his now-vacant house. Out of sight and out of mind.

Twisting the knob slowly, he gathered all the energy he needed and pulled it open.

Tubbo walked in with his head held high and saw Quackity standing with his back and wings to the door, staring outside a window that overlooked the docks. The morning sun silhouetted his figure, making him look imposing as his wings were kept in a tight fold and his hands were held behind his back. He looked deep in thought, but Tubbo knew better. He was simply trying to be a political actor and being dramatic.

“Good morning, Quackity,” Tubbo greeted civilly but with an air of exhaustion.

Without turning around, the avian said in a solemn tone, “Good morning, Tubbo.”

Usually, at this time, the vice president would begin the meeting without further adieu. They were both pretty eager to end the meeting as soon as possible most days, but today, Quackity seemed slow as though he had just received grave news. 

The uncertainty made Tubbo nervous and he felt his hand subconsciously reach for his horn, but he forced it to remain still at his side. He eyed the room for any discrepancies but found none.

“Why were you staring out the window?” Tubbo asked, wicking all exhaustion and nervous energy from his tone.

“Come here.”

With only slight hesitation, the brunette walked over to Quackity in carefully measured steps. When he arrived at his side, the man didn’t say anything for a while. Instead, he kept staring out the window with a grim expression. Tubbo had only seen this man so solemn on the very worst of occasions. His elongated ear twitched as he glanced between Quackity and the docks.

The morning sun illuminated Quackity’s feathers so his black coverts glistened iridescently in the soft light. Black giving way to whites and a striking blue. His wings were kept carefully folded behind his back. Since the Schlatt Administration, Tubbo had never seen the man completely unfurl them. He couldn’t necessarily fly, except for in short bursts, but most of the avians he knew emoted with their wings quite often.

This thought brought Tommy to mind, whose wings and feathers would twitch at even the slightest annoyance. Quackity’s lay deathly still. He pushed the thought out of his mind.

Otherwise, the man looked completely normal. There didn’t appear to be any injuries, not even a slight scuff upon his freshly pressed suit. With a completely unprofessional huff, he realized the man was still wearing his beanie upon his dark brown hair. But his face was pulled tight, as though something was bothering him.

Thus, Tubbo redirected his attention to the bustling activity of the docks below them. Everything seemed about normal on that front as well. Citizens were going about their usual activities. Those working at the shipyard were helping merchants and trade workers load their exports upon the various vessels. 

Stray bits of debris from November 16th still spotted the shoreline. Despite their best efforts of cleaning it all, bits that fell into the harbor were making an appearance as they followed the currents back to shore. Tubbo smiled slightly as he saw a couple of L’Manbergians pick up a few pieces to dispose of them or keep them as souvenirs. He felt a twinge of pride.

“I would do anything for them,” Quackity said very suddenly.

Tubbo was startled slightly at the sound and his ear twitched towards the avian. He just nodded in response and said, “As would I.”  
“You know,” Quackity began, still keeping his eyes trained on the activity at the docks, “I would like to believe our citizens feel safe in L’Manberg. What do you think?”

The president narrowed his eyes slightly in suspicion as he replied, “I’d say they’re pretty safe. They feel safe enough to work and walk about this nation. How much safer could they be?”

The avian hummed, still staring out the window.

“For about a month, I’ve been receiving word from several concerned citizens about the true levels of safety within L’Manberg. People don’t feel as secure as we would expect,” Quackity reported.

Tubbo sighed and walked away from the window, leaning against the conference table. He now knew why Quackity was so solemn. He was acting. The frustration that had long since leaked out of the boy returned with a vengeance. This was all about the proposal. He was purposefully acting abnormally to catch Tubbo off guard. He knew this because this was the exact sort of stunt Quackity used to play with Schlatt in the early stages of their coalition.

With a deadpan expression, Tubbo crossed his arms and said, “You can drop the act. I know what this is about.”

Finally, Quackity turned around and faced the brunette with the same stiff expression. He had an eyebrow quirked as though he was expecting an answer or that he was dismayed Tubbo saw through him that easily. After years of working with the man in a political environment, the president knew all of the avian’s tricks.

Tubbo took a breath and began relaying the facts.

“I know you purposefully ordered your “Defense” proposal to be delivered just a few minutes before our meeting. I know you were banking on me being lazy and simply writing a signature,” the ram hybrid finished. “This might have worked a couple years ago, but unfortunately for you… I am not Schlatt.”

Quackity shifted a bit and drew his lips even thinner as he said, “Yeah, I know you’re not Schlatt.”

“Then why are you treating me like him?”

Tubbo’s ear twitched impatiently as he waited for a response. His vice president looked affronted for a brief moment. He knew he wasn’t necessarily being fair, but the combined lack of sleep and the anniversary of a very complicated decision weren’t conducive to patience and understanding. They made it a point once Tubbo was appointed that Schlatt would never be mentioned except to reference his broader administration. 

This rule was for two reasons. Reason one was that Tubbo, as a ram hybrid, already received intense scrutiny from the rest of L’Manberg. He wasn’t related in any way to Schlatt and his country knew that, but it was hard to turn a blind eye. Reason two was the blatant abuse Schlatt imposed on his cabinet. Quackity was the victim of domestic violence, Tubbo was publicly executed, Fundy was taken advantage of, and none of these were fond memories they wanted to revisit.

“Look,” Quackity said sternly, “I’m not treating you like Schlatt. I wasn’t even going to propose it today.”

Tubbo scoffed and retorted, “Then why did Jonathan make it seem like today was a deadline?”

“I don’t know, man! John can do what he wants,” the avian said. In a more coy tone, he added, “Since you already looked over it though, what are your thoughts on the proposal?”

“It is dead on arrival,” Tubbo said firmly.

“What? You’re not even going to discuss it?”

“No,” the president asserted. “It is a direct violation of L’Manberg’s founding principles and I will not stand for it.”

Quackity looked like he wanted to argue, but either way, they both knew this wouldn’t be the last time this proposal was discussed. Tubbo regarded him with a very stern expression. He didn’t have the energy to fight today and although this quarrel was far from over, it would have to be postponed. Once either man was set on an issue, it was a matter of an unstoppable spear meeting an immovable object. It would go through the rest of the legislation and put to the popular vote.

Before that could happen, however, Quackity would have to convince Tubbo to dig it out of the archives or he would have to draft a new document.

The idea of national security wasn’t a new argument between the executive officers. Quackity was always firm, even before SWAG2020, on his stance towards a strong military and anti-terrorism system. He was even the leader of a radical militaristic party before switching to be elected as the vice president.

Tubbo, on the other hand, who rarely had any strong opinions, firmly believed in the opposite. He lived through dozens of armed conflicts and knew that they never ended to the satisfaction of either side. The Revolution, that Quackity didn’t fight in, was only resolved when Tommy traded his discs for independence. The Rebellion ended in a crater and a powerful enemy. Even small border squabbles failed to reach any conclusive end. He saw conflict as a means for pain, not as a means for security.

Despite knowing this argument wouldn’t go anywhere, Quackity said with a look of reproach, “You can’t just strike down a legitimate proposal on a whim.”

“The principles laid out in our governing documents are not ‘whims’, Quackity,” the president said while subconsciously lowering his head so his horns were visible, still meeting the avian in the eyes. “They are the code we are bound by.”

“Still, I think we live in pretty unprecedented times. Our national security should be our number one concern,” Quackity said, already growing agitated. “As vice president and secretary of state, I say that our ability to defend ourselves against legitimate terrorists should be prioritized over a document that doesn’t account for problems like this.”

Tubbo narrowed his eyes, impatience and frustration welling up inside him. Generally, his vice president would back down by now and introduce it again at a later time to a larger audience. If Quackity truly wasn’t planning on introducing it today, why make such a fuss?

“As your president, I say that if we abandon our principles in times of crises, then L’Manberg loses all sense of integrity and we fail our nation,” Tubbo insisted, clenching his fist.

“Okay, but if we maintain these ‘principles’, then we might end up not even having a L’Manberg to protect!” Quackity exclaimed. “You know who we’re up against! He’s not going to give up until this country is gone for good. You know this just as well as I do.”

At this mention of an anonymous ‘he’, Tubbo gained some clarity as to why his vice president was so adamant about having his proposal see the legislative floor. There was really only one ‘he’ that presented a national threat. 

Technoblade.

For the first few months after his betrayal, concerned citizens of L’Manberg swore that every odd footprint or noise in the night alluded to the piglin hybrid. Sometimes, Tubbo found himself staring up in the crimson eyes of that man and feeling every atom of his being torn apart before waking up in a cold sweat on the futon in his office. The man left a lasting scar on every L’Manbergian, but it was in the best interest of everyone for them to move on.

He was done being afraid.

“Have you actually seen him in the past year?” the president returned rhetorically. Before the avian could answer, Tubbo pressed on and said, “No. You haven’t. He is out of sight and it is time for us to focus on domestic matters.”

“Just because we haven’t seen him doesn’t mean he’s just given up!”

“Do you have any proof?”

Quackity gave a frustrated growl. Tubbo knew that he was being more difficult than usual, but he had no patience for people testing his authority these days. He was fine with other people taking the initiative on certain policies, like reconstruction post-16th, but fear-mongering in the face of a terrorist to push through a militaristic bill? The president had no tolerance for the like.

Still, the avian pressed on.

“What do you mean ‘do I have proof’?!” Quackity exclaimed. “You’ve seen the same proof that I have! You know he’s planning his next move.”

“Do I know this?”

“Yes!” the vice president threw his hands in the air, appearing to be at his wit's end. “Remember Fundy’s reports on the fortresses? The unauthorized farming?”

Tubbo hummed and said, “The nether is neutral territory. Our brewers could have organized a farm for blaze powder without our authority.”

“You know I’m not talking about the blazes. I’m talking about the wither skeletons-” Tubbo flinched slightly- “There is evidence of someone illegally collecting heads.”

“Then file it and put it on my desk for further investigation.”

Quackity gave Tubbo a deadpan stare, but the president remained aloof. He knew this obvious deflection wouldn’t go over well with the older man, but he did not have the patience nor the energy to deal with this particular fight today. He tried to shut it down before, but Quackity would not have it. 

Tubbo’s limbs ached with every movement and his eyes begged to stay closed with every blink. His brain felt like it was in a perpetual fog. Faintly, he wondered if this was how Schlatt felt after a hangover, but let the thought fade away. 

He wanted to rub his eyes, to stomp his feet, to complain, to ram the wall. He wanted to do anything to alert people as to his sheer exhaustion, but he had an image to uphold. Quackity, for all his help in the early stages of his presidency, still couldn’t see him as a superior. He supposed it made sense given his age, but he had ample political experience to back his position. Still, any sign of weakness and he would be taken advantage of.

Before Tubbo fully came back to his wits, Quackity continued with his onslaught and the president accidentally missed half of his declaration even though it would more or less be the same few phrases reworded a dozen times. 

“-our people are scared, Tubbo,” Quackity finished. “Don’t you care?”

The president sighed and said, “The citizens of L’Manberg are fine.”

“How can you be so sure?”

In an exasperated motion, Tubbo pushed himself off the conference table that he was leaning against, startling Quackity a bit, and marched back over to the window. He thrust a hand towards the window and said in a bit too loud of a voice, “Look at them!”

The citizens were going about their day-to-day activities without much care. Sure, the streets weren’t flooded with kids, and, yeah, some debris could still be found in the harbors and drifting in the wind, but it was a far cry from the couple months after the betrayal. In those days, people were shut in their homes and only ever emerged for a couple hours to attend their jobs or volunteer to clean up on a good day.

Things weren’t perfect, but they were getting better.

Tubbo sighed and said, “Quackity, things are so much better than they were. There is no need to regress and turn back on our principles.”

“But what if-”

“No,” the president interjected, interrupting Quackity as he pinched the bridge. “Can we put a pin in this discussion and continue another time?”

He was exhausted and thoroughly done with this argument of theirs. It was going in circles and he didn’t have the stamina to match Quackity’s pace today. His vice president was being especially obdurate when it came to this draft. Usually, when they had differing opinions, they would calmly discuss it until a conclusion was reached or they would defer it to the broader legislation. Today, they were about ready to tear at each other's necks.

Maybe it was because Tubbo tossed out the policy without much thought. Maybe it was because he was too tired to entertain such an outrageous proposal. Was he being too narrow-minded? Or was Quackity simply too invested in his new policy?

Frankly, he didn’t care at the moment.

L’Manberg was a peaceful nation that did not believe in the “eye for eye” principle that Quackity was trying to introduce. For now, their country was healing and Tubbo was content to let this recovery take as long as it needed before shocking it with these contradictory new policies. There was a time and a place for violence. But right now, in this version of L’Manberg, it did not belong.

Tubbo all but collapsed into a chair next to the broad conference table, its glossy wood shining in the morning sun. He sighed. It wasn’t even noon and he was already exhausted.

Quackity wordlessly took in a seat across from Tubbo, his mallard wings shining in the sunlight and carrying a very slight ruffle. They didn’t speak for a few minutes and the president could feel himself being studied. The slightly older man looked apologetic despite the critical glint in his brown eyes.

Tubbo sat there uncomfortably for a few moments, his hands subconsciously brushing against his horns for a moment before he forced them back down, folding them on the table. His ear twitched a bit and he broke eye contact for a brief moment. 

The avian drew his lips in a thin line, looking increasingly sympathetic as he regarded the boy, not the president, before him. In response, Tubbo drew himself to his full height in the chair, straightening his shoulders in a firm line. He met Quackity’s gaze with tired defiance.

“I’m sorry,” Quackity said, effectively disarming Tubbo. “We can discuss it later. I’m just… This is just important to me.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Tubbo responded. “Gather your data, make a case, then we can truly discuss it. I’d like to see signatures and testimonials as well.”

The avian smirked and said, “Yes sir.”

The tension in the room leaked out as they resumed their typical, everyday rhythms of report and response. They resumed typical discussions of daily concerns such as trade reports and overall citizen satisfaction.

Specifically, they discussed the progress of reconstruction and constructing a memorial for the crater left from the 16th. It was hard to believe it’s only been a year since Wilbur detonated a sizable portion of L’Manberg and even harder to believe Tubbo was already a quarter way through his first term as president.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to run again in the coming years. He seemed to be likable enough in the eyes of public appeal, but it was really his cabinet running the show, not Tubbo himself. He got the final say on critical matters, but that’s about it. His one decisive action of exiling Tommy was met with mixed reactions. Some cheered his resolution of the disc conflict. Others called him yet another one of Dream’s pawns. 

On a more mundane note, it was getting colder outside and they were approaching January in less than a week, meaning they needed to prepare their freshwater harbors for the cold snaps that were sure to come. This meant decommissioning their fast and versatile sail lines in favor of the heavier and slower barges. Winter always meant smaller profit margins since barges were expensive and they were still recovering from the debt incurred during any of the wars in the past decade. 

Tubbo wondered how Tommy was faring the colder weather. He was a native to the Antarctic Empire before it fell to ruins, so he had little doubt the avian could survive the harsher climate in the north, but he still worried. He wondered if he still had the right to worry about Tommy. He was the direct cause of his exile, after all.

With a sigh, Tubbo concluded he would send a care package with some basic survival necessities. Maybe he could get Fundy to deliver it to him. 

The compass weighed heavy in his pocket once more. A voice whispered he should send it personally. The thought of seeing Tommy both terrified the president and sparked a stubborn flame of hope.

“Hey, are you still listening?” Quackity’s voice pulled him out of his reverie. He hadn’t even realized he zoned out until his vice president was about to close their briefing.

Sheepishly, Tubbo brushed his horn with a hand and said, “Yeah, sorry. That wasn’t super professional of me.”

Quackity waved him off and simply said, “Don’t worry about it.”

“What did I miss?”

“Nothing, really. Just a recap of what our plans going forth.”

Tubbo nodded and sighed heavily, grateful this meeting was almost over. He wasn’t exactly thrilled at the idea of going back to his desk and facing the horde of paperwork that awaited him, but at least he didn’t have to worry about keeping face while stuck alone in his office. There was nothing a pot of coffee couldn’t fix.

He rubbed his eyes, and leaned back for a moment, resting his eyes. Now that the meeting was over, he didn’t have it in him to keep up the presidential act even though Quackity was sitting across from him.

This proved to be a mistake, however, as the man reached over the table and tapped on the wood to regain his attention. When Tubbo opened his eyes, it was to the fully sympathetic and concerned face of his political rival and teammate.

“Have you been getting enough sleep?” Quackity asked in a soft tone. “You look exhausted. I’m worried about you, man.”

Maybe the man wasn’t playing the vice president anymore. Maybe he was now a friend. Still, Tubbo kept his guard up, albeit loosely.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” the ram hybrid said dismissively.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“When was the last time you slept?”

“Last night,” Tubbo said with a quick glare. “Look, I’m fine.”

In truth, the boy was exhausted, and not just from a lack of sleep. The weight of being a president to a volatile nation was slowly wearing him down. Not to mention the absence and the constant worry of his best friend, whom he sent away in a political move he didn’t allow himself to regret.

But he couldn’t let Quackity know all of this. Despite how friendly he was being at the moment, Tubbo knew first hand how quick the man could turn around and use this sign of weakness in his next campaign. He respected and loved Quackity, truly he did. They were survivors of Schlatt. The only problem was that Tubbo wanted to move on while Quackity was determined to stay in the past. 

Quackity was driven by fear while Tubbo was driven by hope. The nation needed hope more than it needed any more terror at the moment. There would come a time when Quackity’s brash nature would be needed, but that time was not right now. The wound was still too fresh.

“Hey, Tubbo,” the avian said to regain the president’s attention. “Why don’t you take the rest of the day off.”

Tubbo scoffed lightly and said with incredulity, “A day off? You do realize I’m the president, right?”

“So?”

“Quackity, I’m already years behind on paperwork. I can’t just take a break.”

If Tubbo was being honest, he hadn’t considered taking a break before. A little over a year into his administration and he found little time to worry about taking breaks, or frankly, taking care of himself. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted a break. What would he even do?

Read a book by the docs? The only books he was concerned with these days were dense political texts. Hand out in Niki’s bakery? He would get swarmed by various lobbyists trying to get a word in. 

The compass weighed heavy in his pocket.

He shook his head. That was out of the question.

“If you want, I can take care of some of your paperwork for you,” Quackity said in a persuasive tone. 

“I don’t know… They need to be signed off by an executive.”

“Who do you think did all the paperwork in the last administration?” the avian countered. “C’mon, Tubbo. What do you do for fun?”

The ram hybrid twitched an ear. He didn’t really have anything he did for fun.

At Tubbo’s silence, Quackity filled the air and said, “Don’t be like that. You’re a kid! Don’t you have places you want to visit? Games you want to play? Friends to fool around with?”

The president hummed as an idea popped into his head. He knew Quackity wouldn’t be a fan, however, so he kept purposefully vague as he nodded and said, “You’re right. I can find something to do.”

“Glad to hear it!” Quackity exclaimed with a smile. “You deserve R&R.”

Tubbo twitched for a moment before standing up out of his chair, signifying the end of the meeting. Quackity stood as well and looked entirely too happy for having even more work being dumped on him. The president felt slightly concerned, but pushed it down and resolved to do damage control the following day. As he stood up, he realized just how sore he was. He really did need some time off.

Without any further dialogue from the two executives aside from a chipper farewell, Quackity set off for the presidential office while Tubbo rounded the corner to walk down the stairs, smiling and briefly greeting office staff while he made his way to the entrance. He saluted to the secretary at the front desk and signed off before throwing open the glass doors and feeling true, fresh air entered his lungs.

Tubbo already felt better as he began his way to visit someone he had been meaning to see for quite some time. 

Philza.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright alright alright! As usual, this was beta'd/pre-read by violet_sunflowers and weavability. Please check them out and give them all the love they deserve. 
> 
> As you can probably see, this is Part One. I meant for it to be all one chapter, but I had too much to say and calculus has been throwing off my groove, but rest assured: I've got a new pep in my step. Rain or shine, I'm dedicating to a new upload schedule of once a week (either Saturday, Sunday, or Monday depending on the pacing) at 3pm CST. You can count on me! 
> 
> I know this chapter was pretty bogged down by politics. I personally find this interesting, but I know it's not everyone's cup of tea. Next chapter will be much more interesting with the introducing of the one and the only, Angel of Death. Can't wait to see you there! As always, bebe agua y duerme bien (four years of Spanish don't fail me).

**Author's Note:**

> Alright alright! Friend of mine said I should link my twitter and tumblr here. At these you can send any fanart or just say hi! On my Tumblr I send updates and such, twitter I'm just kinda there. Just tryin to get organized <3
> 
> Tumblr: Ancient_Dee_Cyphers  
> Twitter: @CyphersDee   
> Instagram: Ancient_Dee_Cyphers   
> (for fanart, tag #ClippedWingsFanart)


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